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MARCUS AND MIRIAM 

A STORY OF JESUS 



By REBECCA RUTER SPRINGER 

Author of 

“INTRA MUROS,” "SELF,” "BEECHWOOD,” 
"SONGS BY THE SEA.” ETC. 


PUBLISHED BY 

DAVID C. COOK PUBLISHING COMPANY 

ELGIN, ILLINOIS 


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LIBRARY of CONGRESS 
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NOV 16 !908 , 

Copyritfot Entry | 
CLASS XXc. No. 

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“Tell me again how you were injured/’ said Marcus gently, (See page 16.) 


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Copyright, 1908, 

By David C. Cook Publishing Co. 


8 


To 

Our Granddaughter, 

CONSTANCE. 

and to 

All others who love 
Our Lord Jesus Christ 
This story is lovingly dedicated 

by 

The Author. 










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INTRODUCTION, BY REV. HENRY R. NAYLOR, D. D., 
OF WASHINGTON, D. C 


This is really a story of Jesus and his friends ; an amplifica- 
tion and simplification of the account given by the Evangelists, 
beautiful in its simplicity and naturalness. The author has 
brought to her task a keen, powder of analysis and a wealth of 
illustrative material which brings out the real characters of the 
New Testament, causing them to occupy their right places in the 
reader’s mind, and thus affording much suggestive help to the bet- 
ter understanding of the Scriptures. Here is seen not the “ mere 
man ” but the “ real man ” ; and we see at once how he could be 
“ touched with our infirmities.” Here also may be found the 
answer to the oft-repeated question, “ Why did the people love 
him?” The gentle, beneficent spirit of the man who spent his 
life doing good is so faithfully delineated that we are not sur- 
prised to find all the people, except his bitter enemies, following 
his steps and hanging upon his words. 

The book will enrich the sacred literature of this and coming 
time, and will be read with pleasure and profit by both young 
and old, for in it are “ apples of gold set in pictures of silver.” 

H. R. N. 


11 




AUTHOR’S PREFACE 


Among all Bible students, among all professed Christians, there is a 
feeling of deep regret that the human side of the life of Christ, as given 
by the Evangelists, is not more complete in detail, especially in regard to 
his private life. The facts given, both in regard to his miracles and his 
own private history, when touched upon, end so abruptly that much is 
left to the imagination of the reader, and is in that respect unsatisfactory. 
In all probability this has occurred because the Evangelists, when writing 
this history, thought principally of the then present generation, for whom 
it was especially designed, not fully appreciating the fact that this his- 
tory, which they were endeavoring to record truthfully, would live and 
go on down through the centuries, gathering new strength and power as 
the years passed on. The people then living were supposed to know 
of the private surroundings and life of our Savior, and did not need to be 
told concerning them ; but as age after age has passed, these particulars 
have been lost. It is for this reason, and because I would bring Christ 
nearer to all who read this, especially the young, that I have under- 
taken to write this possible story of Christ in the homes and among the 
people who had really learned to love him for even his human traits of 
character. 

For instance, we read of the wonderful calling forth of Lazarus from 
the tomb, in which for four days he had lain ; and we long to know in 
what manner this resurrection affected his life and that of the sisters he so 
loved. In the calling back to life of the little daughter of the ruler, Jairus, 
we find ourselves asking the question, “ How did it affect the lives of her 
parents, and of the many friends around them*? Did they become followers 
of the Christ because of this wonderful blessing conferred upon them, or 
did they allow their fears of the chief priests and scribes to make them, 
hesitate in avowing what he had done?” When he cleansed the lepers, and 
healed the sick, and restored the blind, what did they do with the new 
life thus given to them? Did they spend it in his service, or in the ques- 
tionable pleasures of the world? And when the terrible demoniac, from 
among the tombs in the country of the Gadarenes, was not only healed, 
but bidden to go and preach the gospel unto his benighted people, we 
long to know if he obeyed the divine injunction, and with what results. 

I doubt not all these questions have occurred especially to the minds of 


13 


young readers, who long to know more of this Jesus whom they too have 
learned to love; hence it has occurred to me that a story in which his possible 
life might be set forth, bringing out, and dwelling upon, the traits of 
character touched upon by the Evangelists, would make his personal life 
more real to us, and thus be a help, especially to the younger Bible stu- 
dents. In doing this I have adhered strictly to the Bible history as given 
of his life, only weaving in with it, to form a story, such other incidents as 
might be reasonably expected to approximate the unrecorded incidents of his 
life. 

In my desire to make the human side of the Christ-life real to my young 
readers, I have in some instances enlarged upon the icords of the Evangel- 
ists, but in no instance have I changed the ideas expressed by Christ, or in 
the slightest degree even modified the lessons he sought to inculcate : on 
the contrary, I have endeavored to bring them within the comprehension of 
the j^oungest reader. 

I have also endeavored, by the help of many Biblical writers, to give 
the incidents in consecutive order, which it seems the Evangelists some- ' 
times failed to do, this making his life more of a biography from day to 
day, than mere disconnected incidents. 

I have derived much help from “ Farrar’s Life of Christ,” “ Broadus’ 
Harmonies of the Gospel,” “ Wright's Aids to Biblical Study,” and some 
others, for which I would make due acknowledgment. 

Into my own life the writing of this narrative has brought a clearer, 
sweeter, closer companionship with Christ than I have ever known before; 
and my earnest prayer is, that it may bring this same blessedness into 
the lives of those who read it. R. R, S. 

“ Oh ! song of songs that grows sublime, 

As onward roll the years. 

Oh ! story woven into rhyme 
That melts the heart to tears ! 

I love, I love to hear that song! 

It fills my soul with joy ; 

To Him all songs of praise belong, 

Which mortal tongues employ. 

Oh ! sing that song to me again. 

Whose charm doth never cease. 

Of Him who died for sinful men — 

Immanuel, Prince of Peace ! ” 

— Andrew Sherwood. 




14 


MARCUS AND MIRIAM 

Jl STORY OF JESUS 
By REBECCA RUTER SPRINGER 


CHAPTER I. 

Why should’st thou fill to-day with sorrow 
About to-morrow, 

My heart? 

One watches all with care most true. 

Doubt not that He will give thee, too. 

Thy part. 

— Paul Fleming, 

I T WAS an old-fashioned, beautiful garden 
in the inner court of one of the finest 
houses in Capernaum. Two young people 
were amusing themselves together there ; and, 
upon a rustic table within an arbor thickly 
overhung with vines and flowers, lay some odd 
games with which they had interested them- 
selves. The day was yet young, and the dew 
lay heavy upon the dark leaves and flowers, 
and sparkled like diamonds in the sunshine just 
clearing the tops of the tall trees. The gar- 
den and palace belonged to Jairus, the chief 
ruler in the synagogue of Capernaum ; and 
Miriam, a young girl of twelve, the maiden 
who was at this time in the garden, was his 
only and well-beloved child. Pier companion, 
a youth of seventeen, was Marcus, the nephew 
of Jairus, who bestowed upon him all the affec- 
tions and privileges of a son. Mary, the 
mother of Marcus, was the only sister of the 
ruler. Marcus had gone to live with his Uncle 
Jairus as his clerk, and was loved by him as 
a son. 

As the years passed, and the development 
of the boy advanced — as in those warm coun- 
tries it does rapidly — Jairus found him pos- 
sessed of unusual intelligence, and, at the time 
our story opens; had for some months kept him 
near himself in the capacity of private secre- 
tary, or clerk. Between the two young people 
a warm affection existed, and the early morning 


hours, before the day had grown warm and 
sultry, were often spent by them together in 
the garden. Miriam was thoughtful and studi- 
ous beyond her years, and, not being strongly 
constituted, all outdoor amusements possible 
were encouraged by her parents in order to draw 
her mind from her studies and strengthen the 
frail body. Marcus never wearied of trying to 
entertain and amuse her. Just now the two 
stood together by the great sun-dial that was 
in the center of the garden, and were intently 
watching the shadow of the gnomon, as it crept 
slowly across the dial. A slave woman stood 
at a little distance from them, in whose dusky 
face shone tender solicitude for the young mis- 
tress, who w'as her especial charge. 

“ I sometimes find it hard to accept the 
story of King Hezekiah,” said Marcus, watching 
intently the shadow on the dial. 

** Marcus dear,” said Miriam, gently inter- 
rupting him, “ why do you say ‘ hard,’ when 
you mean ‘diflBcult’? That very mistake was 
treated of in my lesson yesterday.” 

“ Ah, Miriam,” said Marcus, somewhat im- 
patiently, “ why do you always drag your les- 
sons into everything? When I come into the 
garden for an hour with you, I leave lessons 
and work and everything but pleasure behind 
me. I believe you never forget your studies 
for an instant.” 

“ Oh, yes, I do,” said Miriam, brightly. “ But 
of what use will our studies be, w’hat good will 
we derive from them, if we never apply what 
we have learned? Only tins morning — ” 

“ There, there, Miriam ! Let us forget the 
lessons for the present. Your mind needs rest. 
I will say ‘ difficult ’ forever after,” said Marcus 
gently, ‘‘ if now, for this little hour, you will 
forget your studies.” 


16 


MARCUS AND MIRIAM. 


“ Very well, then,” laughed Miriam. “ I have 
at least done a little good, to-day. Now tell 
me what you were about to say of King Heze- 
kiah, when I so unceremoniously interrupted 
you.” 

” I was about to say that it was ‘ difficult/ ” 
with a merry glance at Miriam, “ for me to 
realize how the shadow upon the dial could 
turn backward ten degrees, as Hezekiah desired 
it should. Forward it might have gone ; but, 
unless the sun moved backward, how could the 
shadow do so? I do not want to question, but 
does it not seem almost incredible to you?” 

” Yes,” said Miriam, thoughtfully. ‘‘ But, 
Marcus, what seems full of mystery to me, I 
simply do not question. I do not dare. There 
is so much in the books of the Prophets which 
I cannot understand, that if once I began to 
question, I would be lost in a labyrinth of 
doubt. We know they must be true, because 
they were inspired. Do we not?” 

‘‘ Yes, I suppose we do,” said Marcus, “ but 
somehow, I lack the faith that accepts without 
question. I want to see a thing with my own 
eyes before I can fully believe and accept it.” 

“ But that is not faith, Marcus. Faith is 
that which we believe without actually seeing, 
is it not?” 

“ I suppose so — yes,” he answered, thought- 
fully. 

” I am sure I never could have lived if I 
had not always believed that some day I shall 
be well. I cannot know it, yet I have faith 
to believe it,” said Miriam, gently. 

” Do you believe it all of the time?” asked 
Marcus, eagerly. 

” All of the time,” answered the young girl. 

“ What reason have you for so believing? 
Did anyone ever tell you so?” 

” No, I think not. I do not know why ; yet, 
Marcus, when I was a tiny girl, during one of 
my severe attacks, I thought an angel stood 
beside me and said, ‘Do not be afraid; I will 
save you ’ ; and somehow, I am all the time 
expecting him.” 

“ Dear little Miriam,” said Marcus, gently 
stroking her thin hand, ‘‘ tell me again how 
you were injured. Was it not when you were 
but a baby?” 

“ Yes, I was just a year old the day the 
accident happened. My nurse had started to 
carry me down the long flight of marble steps 
in the palace, when, upon the very top step, she 


slipped and fell the entire length, with me in 
her arms. She tried to save me, holding my 
head against her breast with her hands ; but 
we were both taken up for dead at the foot 
»f the stairs. She recovered, after a few weeks’ 
suffering, but some part of my spine was perma- 
nently injured. You know I have never been 
strong since, and suffer, at times, intensely.” 

“ Yes, I know,” said Marcus, still stroking 
the little hand. “ Was it Ayeah?” he asked, 
in a low tone, indicating the nurse, with a mo- 
tion of his head. 

” Yes,” whispered Miriam. ” It nearly kills 
her to think of it. Low as we were speaking, 
she knows of what we are talking ; she is de- 
voted to me — poor Ayeah !” 

The nurse had moved a few paces, and stood 
half turned away in the shadow of a great 
tree ; but they saw that her head was bowed 
and her face wet with tears. 

“ My grandparents were determined she 
should be sent away, but my parents both 
knew that she was not to blame. She had 
nursed me from my birth with great care and 
tenderness, and it was an accident sh^,could 
not have prevented. Some child had carelessly 
let fall the seed of a date, and she had trodden 
upon it and slipped. Anyone might have done 
the same. When she recovered consciousness 
her grief was intense. She would drag her- 
self from her bed and lie all night outside my 
door. My mother tells me that no persuasion 
or threats would move her, until she one day 
told Ayeah I needed her, and that she must 
soon get strong so as to help take care of me. 
After that she was as docile as a child, and 
soon grew strong enough to actually care for 
me again. Her devotion to me is very touch- 
ing.” 

‘‘ She ought to love you, Miriam, not only 
for this accident, but because of your constant 
kindness to her. Where is a slave taught as 
you teach her, or shown such kindness and 
affection as you show her?” 

‘‘ But Marcus, that is not all unselfish. I 
am not strong enough to have many young 
companions, so, of necessity, am thrown much 
upon Ayeah for companionship while she at- 
tends upon me ; and it is surely better to have 
her intelligent and possessed of some refine- 
ment than for me to be dependent upon an 
ignorant person for amusement. Besides, I like 
to teach her — it is good for me.” 


MARCUS AND MIRIAM. 


17 


“ Yes, yon are right,” said Marcus, looking 
upon the sweetly animated face with admira- 
tion. “ But, Miriam, you are the most honestly 
truthful girl I ever knew. I believe you would 
tell the exact truth about anything, if you 
knew it would cost you your life.” 

“And would not you?” said Miriam, looking 
at him with eyes widely open in astonish- 
ment. 

“ Well,” said Marcus, taken a little aback, 
“ I am not so sure that I might not sometimes 
stop a moment to consider what was best in 
the matter.” 

“ Oh, no, Marcus, you would not — I know 
you would not !” she answered eagerly. 

They had returned to the arbor and were 
sitting together upon one of the rustic seats, 
and now a thoughtful silence fell between them 
for a moment, then Marcus said : 

“ Can you remember how the angel looked 
who came to 'you when you were so ill? What 
was he like?” 

“ No,” said Miriam, “ it is so long ago that 
I only remember he seemed a man, and yet I 
know he was an angel.” 

“ Did j’ou tell anyone at the time?” 

“ Y"es, my mother. She said it was a beauti- 
ful dream sent to comfort me ; that she and 
my father constantly prayed that God would 
heal me, as he did King Hezekiah, and she, 
too, believed that in time he would, but we 
must be patient and wait his time.” 

“ Miriam,” said Marcus, after another mo- 
ment’s thought, “ have you heard them talking 
about Jesus the Nazarene?” 

“The prophet of Nazareth?” questioned 
Miriam. “ Yes, Abaron, my mother’s body- 
servant when we travel, knows much about 
him, and I often hear my mother question him 
about the marvelous reports concerning this 
strange man. He once told her that there was 
a marriage feast in Cana, in the house where 
his brother was a servant ; and that in the 
midst of the feast the wine gave out, and the 
family were greatly distressed and annoyed 
about it. The mother of this Jesus was there. 


and she went to her son and told him of the 
distress of the groom, who, I think, Abaron 
said, was in some way related to .Jesus. Jesus 
ordered some large water jars filled at the 
well, and, when this was done, he bade them 
draw from the jars and carry the water to the 
governor of the feast ; and it was better wine 
than any they had hitherto had. Was not that 
wonderful?” 

“It certainly was. I had not heard of this 
marriage feast, but of other things quite won- 
derful in many ways. I was talking only yes- 
terday with James, the son of Zebedee, the 
master fisherman, and he told me some mar- 
velous things that he had seen. One was, that 
as Jesus was speaking to a large multitude in 
the synagogue one Sabbath day, a demoniac 
rushed into the midst of the crowd, screaming 
and tossing his arms wildly about. Jesus 
said very sternly, in tones of command, as 
though speaking to someone hidden within the 
man, ‘ Come out of him !’ and the poor wretch 
fell struggling and writhing upon the floor, 
crying out, ‘ I know Thee, the Holy One of 
God.’ But soon he became quiet and arose, 
sane and well as any man. James said the 
people were so amazed that they quietly 
dispersed without a word ; and it was all the 
more wonderful, since many had gone there 
simply to scoff and to deride the Nazarene. 

“ He also went into the house where Simon’s 
wife’s mother lay dangerously ill of a fever, 
and, going to the bed, took her by the hand 
and said, ‘ Arise.’ And she immediately arose 
from her bed as though wholly unconscious that 
she had been ill, and began to prepare the 
evening meal for the household. 

“ Many, many like things James told me, for 
he is much with Jesus. Miriam, why may not 
Jesus be the angel of your dream?” 

“ Perhaps he is,” said Miriam, gently. “If 
he is, he will surely come.” 

Marcus looked, amazed at her simple trust. 
But it is ever such trust that brings the ful- 
fillment of the promise : “ They that wait upon 
the Lord shall renew their strength.” 



18 


MARCUS AND MIRIAM. 


CHAPTER II. 

We take with solemn thankfulness 
Our burden up, nor ask it less ; 

And count it joy that even we 
May suffer, serve, or wait for Thee, 
Whose will be done. 

— J. O. Whittier. 

A long, hot day was drawing to a close 
in the city of Capernaum some months 
before the events narrated in the last 
chapter, and already the people w^ere issuing 
from the overheated rooms below and emerging 
into the open air upon the flat roofs of the 
houses, in order to catch a breath of the cool 
breeze that now and then drifted over the city 
from the lake. Especially was this so among 
the humbler classes, whose houses were, for the 
most part, but one-story high, and became per- 
fect ovens during the heat and glare of the 
noontide. On the flat roof of one of these 
humbler dwellings a young man sat, this even- 
ing, mending the fishing-nets that lay in a pile 
beside him. Now and again he would drop his 
work and his eyes would wander wistfully to 
the blue lake in the distance. He had a well- 
knit, manly frame, and an honest face, from 
which dark eyes looked almost solemnly out from 
beneath his dark hair. A woman sat a little 
way from him with an earthen dish of lentils 
in her lap, which she was preparing for the 
evening meal. As she worked, she furtively 
watched the countenance of her son, and, once 
or twice, seemed on the point of speaking, but 
hesitated about disturbing his mood. A swal- 
low darted across the low roof, and the youth’s 
eyes, following it, encountered those of his 
mother, and w’ere held by them. She spoke, 
then. 

“ What is it, James, my son?” 

‘‘ I was thinking, mother, of the wonderful 
Nazarene.” 

“ Hast thou again seen him?” she questioned. 
” Yes, when thou didst send me to find my 
father’s boat this morning for our usual allow- 
ance of fish ; he was there.” 

‘‘ Tell me of him,” she said, as he passed into 
thought. 

“ My father’s boat was not at the mooring, 
but Simon was just landing. I sprang aboard 
and asked him, ‘What luck?’ 

“ ‘ Not a single fish,’ he answered, ‘ although 
we have toiled the entire . night.’ 


‘‘ ‘ That is hard. I wonder how father has- 
fared,’ I said. 

‘‘ ‘ Just the same. We left him still toiling 
with the nets when we weighed anchor, but 
not a fish. Thy brother John was with him.*^ 

” Just then w^e heard a tumult, and, looking, 
saw a large crowd coming down the beach, with 
Jesus a little in advance of them. As he 
reached the shore, the crowd pressed upon him, 
and, stepping into the boat, he asked Simon to 
push out into the lake a little way. When he 
had done so, and had dropped the anchor, he 
sat down in the boat, facing the multitude, 
and talked to them. And oh, mother, such 
wonderful, gracious words as fell from his lips I 
I would I could repeat them to you. The 
crowd pressed down to the water’s edge, some 
even standing ankle deep in the water in order 
to be as near as possible to him. One poor 
fellow, with his right hand drawm into a knot, 
and both feet clubbed, waded out into the* water, 
holding his maimed hand up to Jesus, and call- 
ing out piteously, ‘ Have mercy upon me, thou 
Jesus of Nazareth,’ over and over again, until 
every heart was touched. But Jesus^ talked 
right on, apparently oblivious, until the man, in 
his great anguish of spirit to be healed, waded 
out beyond his depth, and, beginning to sink, 
laid hold with his well hand upon the side of 
the boat, still keeping his eyes fixed steadily 
upon Jesus. The Master must secretly have 
noticed him before, for now, turning his eyes 
upon him, he said, ‘ Why thinkest thou that 
I am able to do this thing?’ And the man, 
white with emotion, said, ‘ Because thy power 
is from God.’ Then Jesus answered him : 

‘‘ ‘ Yes, from God alone such power is given ; 
be it unto thee even as thou believest ; go in 
peace.’ As we looked we saw’ the crooked 
fingers unroll and the hand grow as supple and 
strong as its fellow ; but when the man, in his 
gratitude, w’ould have climbed into the boat 
to w’orship Jesus, he forbade him, saying : 

‘‘ ‘ Not so. Let your life show your gratitude 
to the Father for his mercy to you.’ And, with 
a look of unutterable gratitude and joy, the 
man turned, and, wuth a strong stroke, swam 
back to the shore ; and the people crow’ded about 
him to look at the hands and the feet, afore- 
time so helpless and deformed, now straight 
and comely and ready to take up the work of 
life. And he w’as but one of the ‘ many who 
that day were healed.’ While the multitude 


MARCUS AND MIRIAM. 


19 


were thus diverted, Jesus said to Simon : 

“ ‘ Push out now into the deep and let down 
thy net.’ Simon answered him, ‘ Master, we 
have toiled all night and taken nothing ; never- 
theless, at thy word, I will let down the net’ 
So he threw his net from the boat, and almost 
immediately Jesus said, ‘ Now draw in.’ Tak- 
ing hold of the net, they all began to draw, but 
found it was already so heavy with fishes 
that they could not manage it alone. They 
beckoned to my father and John, who were in 
their boat, with myself and the servants, a little 
distance away. We went quickly, for our own 
boat was empty. With our assistance they 
soon, though with much diflBculty, drew the 
nets to the surface, and we all began to fill 
the two boats with the finest fish I have ever 
seen. Soon both boats were full, and seemed 
in danger of sinking from the great weight ; and 
still the nets- were heavy with fish. 

“ Then w^e knew that divine power had inter- 
posed in our behalf, and we were amazed and 
almost terrified. Simon threw himself upon 
his knees at the Teacher’s feet and cried out : 
‘ Depart from me. Lord, for I am a sinful man, 
unworthy to have Thee bless me with Thy 
presence.’ But Jesus only said gently, ‘ Fear 
not ; henceforth thou shalt catch men.’ From 
this I am sure he meant that Simon should 
help him to lead men into the better life of 
which he is so constantly telling us.” 

Here James stopped, and again his eyes 
turned wistfully to the deep blue winters of the 
Lake of Galilee. The mother’s face was pale 
and wet with tears, but after watching her 
son intently for a few moments, she asked, 
very gently, “What more, my son?” 

James started visibly, then answered in a 
low tone, which, though sad, seemed full of a 
suppressed joy : 

“ He called me also, mother, to follow him ! 
John I was sure he would call, because you 
can but see that he loves him, just as every- 
one who knows him must do ; but me — so plain 
and quiet — he called me, too ! What must I 
do?” with a slight hesitancy, as he asked the 
question. 


The mother arose from her seat, unmind- 
ful of the dish of lentils she had been hold- 
ing in her lap, and, approaching her son, knelt 
down beside him and took his hands into her 
own, bowing her head upon them. Her face 
was full of a holy awe, as though she had 
looked upon an angel as he passed. James 
leaned his forehead upon the bowed head of his 
mother, and each knew that the other was en- 
gaged in fervent prayer. Presently a foot- 
fall sounded in the court below, and they knew 
it was Zebedee, the father of James, taking 
care of the fish with which he had returned. 

James raised his head and softly whis- 
pered : 

“ How can both John and I leave him alone 
with the boats and the nets? It was that that 
brought me home this evening. We have been 
all day with the Master upon the mountain, 
listening to his' teachings to the people. How 
can I leave my father?” 

“ God will provide for that, my son. He 
who is honored with a call to follow the divine 
Master — for divine he surely is, else how could 
he have this strange power that can come alone 
from God? — ^he, I say, who is thus called, must 
never hesitate or look back. Your father hath 
his servants, and he is still a hale and sturdy 
man. Jesus, with his divine knowledge, would 
never have called thee to follow him, if he had 
seen that thy duty lay here. Our home will be 
lonely without our dear sons,” — and her lips 
quivered as she spoke — “ but we, too, will love 
this divine teacher and rejoice that thou and 
thy brother are henceforth to be among his 
chosen and trusted companions. Besides, there 
will be intervals when we shall meet and know 
of that which concerns us both. Does your 
father know?” 

“ He was with us in the boat ; and, when 
Jesus called to me, he bade me go.” 

“ It will be well, it will be well,” said the 
mother, slowly rising and laying her hands 
with a caressing touch upon the bowed head of 
her son, her eldest-born, her pride. Then she 
descended the stairs and went to join her hus- 
‘band. 



20 


MARCUS AND MIRIAM. 


CHAPTER III. 

Not till I loved Thee did I know Thee ; nor 
till I knew Thee did I love Thee. I loved Thee 
first under the hazy veil of a faith that was 
but half faith ; but when I came to know even 
what I know of Thee now, the love I had be- 
fore, seemed unmeet to be called love ; and yet 
it was that which lured me on to know Thee, 
and so to love Thee more . — William B. Philpot. 

O NE beautiful dewy morning some weeks 
after the events narrated, Miriam sat 
in one of the arbors of the palace gar- 
den, her Ayeah crouched at her feet, look- 
ing up with intense interest into the face of 
her mistress. Miriam was telling her the ever- 
wonderful story of the sickness of Hezekiah, 
the visit of the prophet Isaiah, his message of 
death to the king, Hezekiah’s prayer for re- 
covery, and God’s answer, wherein the king was 
granted fifteen additional years of life. When 
she told of the prophet’s return to the king 
with God’s gracious message, and of Heze- 
kiah’s demand for proof that the message was 
true by the shadow upon the sun-dial turning 
backward ten degrees, the dusky face of the 
nurse grew sober with thought, and finally she 
broke out, impetuously : 

“ How did he dare to ask for proof that God’s 
message by the lips of the prophet was true? 
I wonder he was not smitten dead, or the prom- 
ise at once recalled, for his lack of faith. The 
wonderful Nazarene teaches that only by faith 
in God’s promises are they fulfilled. Hezekiah 
doubted instead. How could he then be healed?” 

“ The w'onderful Nazarene, Ayeah — what 
knowest thou of him?” said Miriam, startled 
by having his name thus introduced by her 
nurse. 

“ Forgive me, little mistress,” said the nurse, 
humbly, ” but when thou didst last give me 
my day of holiday, Judith and I went over to the 
hills, where we had heard the Nazarene was to 
preach, and listened for ourselves to his gracious 
words. Was I wrong not to have asked thee 
first?” 

“ Yes, Ayeah, thou shouldest first have asked 
my permission ; and I would not have withheld 
it, for I am greatly interested in him also. I 
will not reproach thee ; but another time come 
first to me. How knowest thou but I might 
have asked thee to bear a message for me?” she 
answered kindly. 

“ Ah, sweet little mistress,” said the nurse, 


kissing the white hand of the girl tenderly, 
” thou art always so kind and good, and thy 
Ayeah is so heedless. Tell me, my Miriam, 
dost thou believe he is the promised Christ?” 

“ I know not ; I cannot say. I have not seen 
him. But he seems wonderful to me. Tell me 
about him, Ayeah. How did he seem to thee? 
What did he say? Oh, that I, myself, might 
see him !” 

“ Didst thou ever dream of an angel, my 
Miriam? If so, thou mayest know how fair and 
beautiful he is. I cannot describe him to thee, 
for I really did not think much about his ap- 
pearance, so interested was I in what he was 
saying. He seemed everything lovely and good. 
He somehow made one forget for the time 
everything but just what he was talking about.” 

“And what did he talk about, nurse?” 

“ Well, he talked about the duty of peaple 
to each other, for one thing ; exhorted servants 
to be obedient to their masters, and masters 
to be kind to their servants. He told us how 
our lives should always be pure and full of 
good works, and said little things were some- 
times of great value in God’s eyes, because 
they showed to him the true characte#* of the 
heart. He said that people who professed to 
be righteous, yet sinned in their hearts, were 
like sepulchers that were white on the outside 
while the dead bodies were decaying within. 
While he was talking, a little toddling child 
ran up to him and took hold of his robe. A 
man standing near said to his mother, ‘ For 
shame ! to let the child disturb the Teacher 
while he is speaking ! Take it away.’ But 
Jesus heard him, and, stooping down, he lifted 
the little, laughing baby in his arms, and, 
turning to the man, said, ‘ Except ye become 
as pure and innocent as this little child, ye can- 
not enter the kingdom of heaven.’ And he held 
him in his arms while he talked, and the child 
played with his hair and cooed and crowed and 
looked up into his face, and once actually put 
up its little, rosy lips for him to kiss.” 

“ And did he kiss him?” asked Miriam, breath- 
lessly. 

“ Indeed he did ! And when he saw some 
smiling at the act, he said, ‘ Let the little chil- 
dren come to me, and forbid them not ; for of 
such is the kingdom of God.’ And when he 
gave the sleeping baby to his mother — for he 
had at last nestled down on Jesus’ shoulder 
and gone to sleep — ^many women pressed about 


MARCUS AND MIRIAM. 


21 


him and held their children up for him to bless. 
And ‘ he took them in his arms and blessed 
them.’ ” 

“ How beautiful !” said the young girl, mus- 
ingly. Then, “ And did he do anything won- 
derful — perform any miracles?” she asked. 

The nurse hesitated a moment before she an- 
swered, half reluctantly : 

“ Little mistress, thy honored mother for- 
bade my ever telling to thee anything that 
could in any way excite thee. I would rather 
say no more.” 

But Miriam smiled brightly as she said : 
“ But, dear old Ayeah, it will excite me a great 
deal more to have thee disobey me than any- 
thing thou couldest tell me would do, and I 
command thee to tell me all thou didst see. 
Did Jesus perform any miracles?” As she 
saw the nurse still hesitate a little, she added 
sophistically, “ I promise no blame shall at- 
tach to thee. * I never would allow thee to dis- 
obey my mother — that would be wrong; but 
thou dost belong to me, and thou knowest she 
tells thee always to obey every command I give 
thee. Is it not true?” 

“ It is true, little mistress. I will tell thee 
all. He had performed many miracles before 
we reached there, they told us. He was speak- 
ing when we got there. But, as we were re- 
turning home, Jesus and a few people were 
walking quite a little in advance of the multi- 
tude, and Judith and I kept as near to them 
as we could, in order that we might hear as 
much as possible of what he was still saying 
to those with him, and also that we might 
escape the pressure of the multitude behind us. 
Presently, as we were hurrying forward, we 
saw, sitting by the wayside, the most wretched- 
looking object that I have ever seen. I have 
seen many lepers in my life, but this one was 
the most repulsive-looking man thou couldest 
imagine. He was almost blind and his body 
was badly distorted. As we approached, he 
was throwing dust upon his white head and 
crying out in a distressed voice, ‘ Unclean ! 
Unclean !’ Suddenly he saw Jesus and his com- 
panions approaching. He evidently had sta- 
tioned himself by the wayside for that purpose, 
for he at once began to draw himself painfully 
forward until he fell prostrate at the feet of 
Jesus, crying in a beseeching voice : 

“ ‘ Have mercy upon me. Lord ! If thou wilt, 
thou canst make me clean !’ 


” Jesus stopped, and the look of tender pity 
and compassion that stole over his face, as 
he looked on this poor, outlawed creature, would 
surely have touched any heart. He looked 
searchingly into his face a brief instant, then 
reached forth his hand and touched him, say- 
ing, ‘ I will ; be thou clean.’ And instantly 
he was healed ! The white, scaly skin disap- 
peared ; the colorless hair and eyebrows be- 
came black and glossy ; the bent form stood 
erect and the knotted hands and feet grew 
supple and perfect. When he realized what 
had been done for him, he threw himself at the 
feet of Jesus and strove to clasp his knees, 
in his gratitude, crying reverently, ‘ Now know 
I thou art the Messiah.’ But Jesus forbade 
him, saying, ‘ Go thy way ; tell no man what 
God has done for thee, but take now thine 
offering, show thyself to the priest, and live 
henceforth for God alone.’ And the man went 
away, leaping and singing and praising God. 
Little Miriam, thou art crying. What will 
thy mother say to thy Ayeah?” The good 
nurse’s cheeks were also wet with happy tears 
as she finished her narrative, and Miriam whis- 
pered, ‘‘ Oh, Ayeah, he is the Christ !” 

At this moment Marcus entered the garden, 
and Miriam hastily dried her eyes, while the 
nurse, arising, seated herself on a stone bench 
a little apart from her young mistress. Marcus’ 
manner betrayed suppressed excitement, and he 
at once began : 

” Miriam, I have strange things to tell thee,” 
But, as he seated himself beside her, he marked 
the agitation still apparent in her face, and 
he said, solicitously, “ What distresseth thee, 
Miriam? Thou hast been weeping.” 

‘‘ Nay, Marcus, I was only affected by a 
touching story Ayeah was telling me,” she an- 
swered sweetly. 

” But Ayeah must not tell thee touching 
stories, my Miriam, if they cause thee to ween.” 
he said, glancing reprovingly at the nurse. 

“ Nay, I will not have Ayeah blamed, Mar- 
cus ; I compelled her to tell me of the wonderful 
miracles done by the Nazarene.” 

” The Nazarene, Miriam ! What knows 
Ayeah of the Nazarene? It was of him I came 
to tell thee.” 

Then at their request Ayeah had to repeat 
for Marcus all that she had told Miriam, he 
questioning her closely as to what she had seen 
and heard. Then he said : 


22 


MARCUS AND MIRIAM. 


“ I, too, witnessed the healing of the leper, 
though I did not hear the discourse. Thy 
father, Miriam, kept me attending to some mat- 
ters for him until I met the multitude return- 
ing as I went toward the hills. I was only 
a short distance behind the leper when he ap- 
proached Jesus, and I saw all that was done. 
Thou hast given a true account, Ayeah. It was 
wonderful, wonderful ! And through it all I 
kept saying to myself, ‘ If he could do this for 
this wretched man, what could he not do for 
Miriam?’ Dear Miriam, thou must see this 
Jesus — this wonderful Nazarene. I am sure 
that he would make thee strong and well.” 

“ I long to see him,” said the gentle maiden, 
“ but not so much because he could give me 
strength — though that would indeed be glorious 
— as because I believe he is the Christ, the 
Holy One from God. Abaron has seen him 
many times, and I have heard him tell my 
mother that none but One inspired could talk 
as he doth. And more than once, Abaron says, 
he hath himself declared that he ‘ came forth 
from God,’ and that whosoever believed he was 
the Son of God should have life eternal. What 
dost thou think of him, Marcus? How did 
he seem to thee?” 

“ I could only think, as I looked upon him, 
of the passage which we sometimes hear read 
in the synagogue : ‘ The chiefest among ten 
thousand, and the One altogether lovely.’ He 
seemed to me a perfect type of a most perfect 
manhood. I cannot tell thee the color of- his 
eyes — although I fancy they were a dark gray — 
but there was a depth of tenderness and love 
and compassion in them, as he looked upon 
thee, that made thee willing to lay thy very 
life at his feet. And his voice ! Ah, Miriam, 
thou shouldest hear his voice ! It reminded me 
of the sweet tones that steal from thy seolian 
harp on a windy day — so wondrous sweet, yet 
with such a pathetic cadence as to make 
thee long to weep. It is as though he carried 
heavy sorrow in his heart that made itself felt 
through his most gracious words.” 

“ Ah, Marcus, thou dost make me long more 
than ever to see him. Thinkest thou that my 
father would take me to him? I thwik that he 
regards him as almost divine ; although our 
priests declare him blasphemous because he 
asserts so confidently that he and the Father 
are one. They would gladly compel us all to 
despise him if they could. Why are they so 


prejudiced against him, thinkest thou?” 

“ I know not. Possibly they are envious of 
his influence with the people.” 

“ But why should that be, when all he says 
and does is to help and uplift them? Should 
they not rather learn of him and profit by his 
superior methods?” 

“ Guileless little Miriam !’’ said Marcus, with 
a smile, “ thou hast yet to learn that priests are 
very human, and often fail to practice the 
charity they preach. But we will trust they 
cannot harm him, and will do our best to bring 
thee to his presence in some way.” 

“Where is he, Marcus?” 

“ Ah !” said Marcus, with a start of unpleas- 
ant remembrance. “ At present he is not here. 
He felt constrained to remain without the city 
for a time, because our law condemns as un- 
clean any who have touched a leper.” 

“ But, Marcus, his touch healed and purified 
the leper. How could he, therefore, receive 
contamination therefrom? It seems to me that 
there could be no need of purification in his 
case.” V 

“ Yes, thou art right. Yet one of the remark- 
able things about the Nazarene is, that with 
all of his power, he yet scrupulously fulfills the 
requirements of the law. That is one thing 
that so incenses the Sanhedrin against him. 
So he has now evidently withdrawn himself 
from the city and his home, that they may not 
be able to say he did not fulfill the re- 
quirements of the law of purification. That 
accomplished, he will return ; and then, my 
Miriam, thou must see him.” 

“ Indeed, yes,” she answered thoughtfully. 

At this moment a slave approached, and with 
respectful obeisance, said : 

“ Mistress Miriam, it is the hour for thy bath, 
and it is now prepared and waiting for 
thee.” 

“ Yes, Sarah, we will come at once,” said 
Miriam, rising and beckoning to Ayeah to ac- 
company her. The maid came forward and 
threw a light scarf across the shoulders of the 
young girl, then drew back a step, respectfully, 
as Marcus said : 

“ I will go with thee as far as the entrance 
to the corridor, then I, too, will hasten to the 
bath, for I promised Antonius I would meet 
him in the public bath to-day, and it draws 
nigh the hour of our engagement.” 

When they reached the end of the garden. 


MARCUS AND MIRIAM. 


23 


Marcus bent a moment gallantly over the hand 
of his little cousin, and said brightly : 

“ Until to-morrow, Miriam then relin- 
quished her to the care of Ayeah, and, turn- 
ing, passed through the door into the outer 
court, and thence through a gateway into the 
narrow street. 

o 

CHAPTER IV. 

They are slaves who fear to speak 
For the fallen or the weak. 

They are slaves who will not choose 

Hatred, scoffing and abuse 

Rather than in silence shrink 

From the truth they needs must think ; 

They are slaves who dare not be 

In the right with two or three. 

— James Russell Lowell. 

A S MARCUS walked with a light step 
down the dusty way, many a passer-by 
turned and looked with admiring eyes 
after the handsome youth. Reaching the public 
bath, he passed along a wide corridor, with 
many entrances on either side, and entered a 
■small apartment, one of many, and submitted 
himself to the hands of a slave, who rubbed and 
pummelled and douched him until his entire 
body was in a fine glow, then anointed him 
with fragrant oils and perfumes, and afterward 
handed him his own tunic for the public bath, 
or pool. Proceeding some distance further along 
the corridor, he pushed open a swinging door 
and entered a large apartment, or hall, in which 
the great pool lay. The walls of this apart- 
ment were elegantly frescoed with varied scenes 
of nymphs and satyrs bathing, with lofty palm 
trees and birds of gorgeous plumage and flow- 
ors of brilliant hues. Around the entire room 
ran a narrow balcony of marble, with luxurious 
oouches and seats against the wall, and from 
this balcony, at short intervals, descended mar- 
ble steps into the great basin, which was filled 
with perfumed water. Not many persons were 
in the pool when Marcus entered the hall, for 
the hour was somewhat early for those accus- 
tomed to frequent the place. 

He paused for a moment on the balcony until 
he saw that his friend Antonins was already 
there, then he slowly descended one of the 
flights of steps into the water, motioning for 
one of the slaves to serve him wine upon one 


of the floating tables. All present greeted him 
with cordiality, and Antonius said, indicating 
a gentleman near him : 

“ I would present my friend Aurelius, of the 
household of Caiaphas, our high-priest.” 

Marcus greeted him with dignity, at the same 
time taking mental note that something in his 
manner was not prepossessing. After the little 
flutter caused by the entrance of Marcus had 
subsided, Antonius spoke to a young man re- 
clining in the bath at a little distance from 
them and said : 

“ Philip, we are all anxious to hear more of 
your wonderful story. Marcus will, I am sure, 
be interested.” 

“ Undoubtedly,” said Marcus, with a look of 
inquiry at Philip. 

“ It was only,” said Philip, turning politely 
to Marcus, ‘‘ a brief narration of my own expe- 
rience with the prophet of Nazareth, in which 
the gentlemen were kind enough to be inter- 
ested.” 

“ He is no prophet I” said Aurelius, sneer- 
ingly. 

” Go on ! Go on !” cried all the others, with 
one accord. 

Marcus gave a quick glance at Aurelius, 
and then one of inquiry at his friend Antonius ; 
but nothing further was said, and Philip pro- 
ceeded with his story. 

“ He may be no prophet — I am not here to 
argue that point — but he certainly is the most 
wonderful man I have ever chanced to meet.” 

‘‘ Prove it !” said Aurelius, with a half-con- 
cealed sneer. 

Again Marcus looked at him, and some- 
thing of the contempt he felt must have 
been visible in his face, for the lip of Aurelius 
curled scornfully. 

“ That will not be difficult to do,” Philip 
calmly answered. 

“ Perhaps you are yourself one of his dis- 
ciples?” queried Aurelius, contemptuously. 

“ The story ! The story !” cried the others, 
tired of the delay ; and Philip, taking up the 
broken thread of the narrative, ignoring the 
rude thrust, said quietly: 

“ It was the day after the wonderful cleansing 
of the leper, of which I have just told you, that, 
as I was leaving the city of Nain, whither I had 
gone late in the evening of the day before, I saw, 
just without the gates, a funeral procession mov- 
ing slowly to the place of burial. Not wishing to 


24 


MARCUS AND MIRIAM. 


disregard the amenities of life, I dropped be- 
hind until it should pass. It was one of the 
saddest sights I ever saw. A fellow-traveler 
told me that the young man upon the bier was 
the sole dependence and comfort of his mother, 
a widow, who, by his death, was left alone and 
helpless. The poor woman, leaning heavily 
upon the arm of a kindly neighbor, followed 
close behind the bier, wuth bowed head and 
form convulsed with heavy weeping. Now and 
then she would raise her voice in the most 
pitiful lamentation ; ‘ Oh, my son ! My son !’ 
And then the band of hired mourners, evidently 
thrilled and touched by her deep sorrow, would 
break forth into renewed and pitiful wailing, 
more real than is customary on such occasions. 

“ Suddenly I saw approaching from the way 
they went, the tall form of the Nazarene ; and 
I, who had so recently witnessed the cleansing 
of the foul leper, wondered in my heart if he 
could restore life to the still form resting upon 
the bier. But no ; I felt that were too much 
to believe, but he might say words that would 
comfort the stricken mother. He approached 
and touched the bier, and the bearers, either 
because they recognized him, or possibly to take 
an instant’s rest, set it down, and the mother 
broke forth into renewed lamentations. 

“ Her sorrow seemed to appeal to Jesus, for, 
approaching her, he softly touched her uplifted 
hand and said, ‘ Weep not.’ Then he bade them 
take the cloth from the face of the dead man ; 
and, leaning over, he looked for a moment in- 
tently at the colorless face, then, touching the 
forehead gently with his finger, he said so dis- 
tinctly that all could hear : ‘ Young man, arise.’ 

“ I had pressed forward with the others, when 
we saw Jesus approach the bier ; and now I 
saw the eyes open, like one suddenly aroused 
from sleep, and gaze with a startled look up 
into the face of Jesus. Then the young man 
sat up, and, in an instant, taking the out- 
stretched hand of Jesus, he stepped from the 
bier and stood upon his feet, exclaiming : 
‘ Mother, I live !’ And Jesus presented him 
to his mother alive. 

“ Then mother and son fell with great rejoic- 
ing upon each other’s necks, and all the peo- 
ple sent up a shout of great joy ; but when 
they turned and would have worshiped Jesus, 
he was gone, no man knew whither. Then the 
people who had passed so sorrowfully through 
the gates, turned and retraced their steps toward 


the city, the mother leaning joyously upon the 
arm of her restored boy, he walking with happy 
face and firm, elastic step beside her. A mer- 
chant from the city, who was present, threw 
his own tunic over the shoulders of the young 
man, and no one looking upon him would have 
believed that he had been carried dead through 
the gates of the city less than an hour before. 
Instead of the funeral chant and the wailing 
of the mourners, there arose a paean of triumph, 
a hymn of praise.” 

As Philip paused there was an instant of 
deep silence in the room, then many eager ques- 
tions were asked and answered. 

“ Is not this the promised Messiah?” said one. 

” He must have supernatural power,” said 
another. 

“ Any sorcerer could have done the same !; 
He is an impostor of the worst stamp, and 
should be taken care of by the authorities,” said 
Aurelius, rising from his recumbent position in 
the bath. 

“ Then why,” said Marcus, , also rising, 
“ should any die, if the sorcerers can restore 
life? That is a new doctrine to me. I also 
saw this man Jesus cleanse the leper, 'Though 
I did not see him raise the dead ; and I say, 

‘ Woe unto him whose hand is raised against 
him, for his power is divine ’ !” And with a 
grave salute he passed up the marble steps and 
out of the room. 

” AVho is that arrogant fellow?” questioned' 
Aurelius of Antonius. 

” That,” said Antonius, in surprise, “ is Mar-^ 
cus, the nephew of the ruler of the synagogue, 
and a noble youth.” At this, Aurelius looked’ 
annoyed, but only said : ‘‘ You should have told 
me this in the beginning; this ruler is the 
very man I seek to conciliate, and I have begun 
by antagonizing the nephew.” 

Antonius made no answer, but in his heart 
he thought, “ No true gentleman would require 
to be told that he should treat all with cour- 
tesy.” 

Marcus hastened back to the palace of his 
uncle, after he left the baths, hoping that he 
might again see Miriam and tell her the story 
of the widow of Nain. But Ayeah met him with 
a sorrowful face and told him that her little 
mistress had been quite ill after her bath, and’ 
it was not permitted that anyone at present 
should see her ; so he turned sadly away. 

He strolled aimlessly about the garden for- 



•• Woe unto him whose hand is raised against him!” 


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MARCUS AND MIRIAM. 


27 


half an hour or more, then determined to go 
direct to the father of Miriam and tell him 
all he had heard concerning Jesus, the wonder- 
ful Nazarene, and urge him to seek him and 
bring him at once to Miriam, that he might heal 
her also. He went to the private room in the 
official quarters of the ruler, and entered, as 
was his habit, unbidden. But no sooner was 
he within the room than he saw that his uncle 
was not alone, and he was about to withdraw 
when Jairus called to him. Turning to meet 
him, he saw to his surprise that Aurelius, the 
messenger of Caiaphas the high-priest, was the 
ruler’s guest. 

Aurelius was visibly confused when he saw 
^larcus, but the two young men looked at each 
other as though they never had met before. 
Jairus presented them to each other, and then 
proceeded to say to Marcus (whom he had 
already begun to consult and trust in grave 
matters of business, seeing that he was en- 
dowed with rarely good judgment and keen 
insight into character, for one so young) : 

“ The high-priest, Caiaphas, has honored me 
by sending this, his trusted messenger, to con- 
sult with me concerning some disturbances that 
have arisen on religious questions.” 

“ Nay, nay, my lord,” interrupted Aurelius, 
hastily, “ the difficulty has not arisen upon reli- 
gious questions, but upon blasphemous utter- 
ances by one Jesus, whom the people of the 
lower classes regard as a prophet. He is a 
pestilent fellow, given to stirring up strife, and 
the high-priest would fain have an example 
made of him.” 

Jairus held up his hand to enjoin silence, for, 
glancing at the face of his nephew, he beheld 
it flushed with excitement and the eyes ablaze 
with suppressed anger. “ You may say to the 
most honorable Caiaphas for me that I have 
already made much inquiry concerning the 
Nazarene, at the request of the most honorable 
Annas, the father-in-law of Caiaphas, and thus 
far I discover nothing for which he could be 
held amenable to the law.” 

“ He is blasphemous,” broke in Aurelius, im- 
petuously. 

Again Jairus held up his hand to enjoin 
silence, and continued : “ But I will pursue my 
inquiries diligently until convinced either of his 
innocence or guilt. You may bear to our hon- 
orable high-priest our expressions of profound 
respect and our regret that we cannot more 


fully coincide with his views in this matter.” 

Then Jairus arose to signify that the audience 
was at an end ; and Aurelius, flushed and con- 
fused, bowed low and hurriedly retired. Marcus 
had remained standing during the entire inter- 
view, but had spoken no word. Now his uncle 
said to him, as he threw himself upon a couch : 

“ Thou dost not seem to feel much honored 
by the visit of the courteous Aurelius.” 

“ His heart is as black as the dead coals on 
the altar. Mark me, he is plotting, for some 
end of his own, to destroy this wonderful 
prophet.” 

“Thou hast seen him before?” questioned 
his uncle. 

“ Yes, only an hour ago ;” and he narrated 
the scene at the public bath. 

Jairus seemed much interested and impressed 
by all he heard, and, when Marcus concluded, 
he said to him : 

“And thou? What thinkest thou of Him?” 

Marcus, again rising to his feet, said, with 
uplifted hand : 

“ He is the Messiah the prophets have fore- 
told. His is the Christ, the Holy One of God !” 

“ What reasons hast thou for thinking thus, 
other than those thou hast given?” queried the 
ruler. 

Then Marcus told him what he himself had 
seen in the cleansing of the leper, and what 
James had told him of the things that he him- 
self had seen — of the miraculous draught of 
fishes, of the instantaneous healing of Simon’s 
wife’s mother, and many other things of like 
nature. When he had concluded, his uncle said : 

“ I think thou must be right, my son ; such 
marvelous power could come alone from God. 
We must beware how we cross swords with 
such a power, or hold in low esteem one whose 
origin seems truly to be divine.” 

Then Marcus said : “ Oh, my father, why do 
we not seek him for the healing of our dear 
Miriam? Even now, the nurse tells me, she 
lies very ill, and one word from this man 
would give to her the strength she never has 
possessed. May I not go forth, and, finding him, 
bring him at once to you for her sake?” 

“ Alas, my dear Marcus ! I have not been 
unmindful of the welfare of the child so dear 
to us all, and, as soon as she was taken ill, 
I sent Abaron, who knows well the prophet by 
sight, to beseech him to come to us. But he 
soon returned to say that at daylight this morn- 


28 . 


MARCUS AND MIRIAM, 


ing, Jesus, with several of his disciples, left in 
a boat to go to the country of the Gadarenes, 
I suppose to preach his gospel to that benighted, 
people. I much fear they will not listen to him ; 
but be that as it may, we cannot now find him 
to entreat him for Miriam. But do not be 
troubled now for her, for only a moment before 
you came, her mother sent me w’ord that the 
violence of the attack w'as passing, and she 
had fallen into a tranquil sleep. The danger 
has for the present passed, and before another 
attack I trust we shall have found the teacher, 
and entreated him for her recovery. She could 
not be dearer to your heart, my son, than she 
is to ours. Be comforted.” 

And laying his hand a moment kindly upon 
the arm of the young man, he passed into the 
more public quarters of the building. Marcus 
was very fond of his young cousin Miriam, and 
there was a double bond between them, because 
they had in early childhood been betrothed to 
each other by their parents, which was not an un- 
common event in that country. As Miriam grew 
to womanhood she had developed a most beauti- 
ful character, and was well beloved by all who 
knew her. I say to w’omanhood, because, 
although Miriam w’as still only about twelve 
years of age, in that hot climate where plants 
and shrubs shoot up with great rapidity into 
perfection, so also do children early arrive at 
maturity, at an age when in our colder atmos- 
phere they would still be looked upon as chil- 
dren of. tender years. I cannot better illustrate 
this, than by quoting direct from one of our 
most learned writers. He says : 

” The age of twelve years was a critical age 
for a Jewish boy. It was the age at which, 
according to Jewish legend, Moses had left the 
house of Pharaoh’s daughter ; and Samuel had 
heard the voice which summoned him to the 
prophetic office ; and Solomon had given the 
judgment w’hich first revealed his possession of 
wisdom ; and Josiah had first dreamed of his 
great reform. At this age a boy, of whatever 
rank, was obliged, by the injunction of the 
rabbis and the custom of his nation, to learn 
a trade for his own support. At this age he 
was so far emancipated from parental authority, 
that his parents could no longer sell him as 
a slave. At this age he became a ien hat-torah, 
or ‘ Son of the Law.’ Up to this age he was 
called ‘ Katon,’ or little ; henceforth he was 
‘ gadoD or grown-up, and was treated more as 


a man ; henceforth, too, he began to wear the 
‘ tephillin,’ or ‘ phylacteries' and was presented 
by his father, in the synagogue, on a Sabbath, 
which w^as called from this circumstance the 
‘ shahhath tephillin.' 

‘‘ This period, too, the completion of the 
twelfth year, formed a decisive epoch in a 
Jewish boy’s education. According to Juda Ben 
Tema, at five he was to study the Scriptures ; 
at ten, the Mishna ; at thirteen, the Talmud ; 
at eighteen, he was to marry ; at twenty, ac- 
quire riches ; at thirty, strength ; at forty, 
prudence. Nor must we forget that the Hebrew 
race, and Orientals generally, develop with a 
precocity unknown among ourselves, and that 
boys of this age (twelve years), according to 
Josephus, could and did fight in battle ; and 
that, to the great detriment of the race, it is 
to this day regarded as a marriageable age 
among the Jews of Palestine and Asia Minor.” 

These facts are in many respects true of both 
sexes, especially so as to the marriageable age. 
In the Orient, especially in India, little girls of 
tender years are often married to men sometimes 
old enough to be their grandfathers, andjjaany 
are the hardships they endure on account of 
this unholy custom. In the case of Miriam, her 
parents, both already tasting of the true gospel 
of Christ, protected their little daughter from 
many things to which she otherwise would have 
been subjected, and helped the beautiful devel- 
opment of her character ; so that, although in 
her childhood she w^as betrothed to her cousin, 
their marriage was not expected to be consum- 
mated until her health at least should be per- 
manently established. She had been taken to 
many physicians and subjected to much painful 
treatment, which, alas ! thus far had been of 
no benefit whatever, the attacks returning each 
time with renewed violence, until all felt that 
her delicate frame could not much longer resist 
the dreadful suffering thus entailed. So it had 
come to pass that in her present suffering they 
had sought to find Jesus, the wonderful Naz- 
arene, but learned to their sorrow that he had 
left Capernaum to go into the benighted coun- 
try of the Gadarenes. 



MARCUS AND MIRIAM. 


29 


CHAPTER V. 

Bassanio: “For thy three thousand ducats 
here is six.’’ 

Shylock: “If every ducat in six thousand 
ducats were in six parts, and every part a 
ducat, I would not draw them ; I would have 
my bond. ’ — Merchant of Venice. 

I N ONE of the narrow streets of the older 
portion of the city, Joseph Armen ta, an 
industrious mechanic, and his wife Sarah, 
lived with their little family of four healthy 
children. By the most rigid economy these two 
honest people had been able to purchase the 
tiny house and garden, and after years of hard 
toil had paid for it, with the exception of a 
small mortgage held by a money-lender. This 
they confidently expected to lift before the year 
should close ; and they would then own their 
home free of' all encumbrance. But a scourge 
of fever of a malignant type passed through 
the city of Capernaum, and soon Joseph 
Armenta and his two younger children were 
stricken and died with the disease. Young 
Joseph, the eldest child, was the first to be 
prostrated by it, but having a strong and vigor- 
ous constitution, he rallied, and, at the time 
of his father’s death, was able, though still 
weak, to stand with his mother at his father’s 
bedside and receive his last words. 

“ Wife,’’ said the dying man, “ thou must 
be brave for the sake of Joseph and little 
Ruth, who are still left to thee. Life is very 
sweet, but it is God’s will ; we must not mur- 
mur. Joseph ’’ — turning his eyes upon his son — 
“ will take my place and help thee with thy bur- 
dens. The money for the last claim, all but a 
few gold shekels, is in the secret place of which 
thou knowest. The claim is now due, and, but 
for this fatal illness, I should be able to pay 
it. Abrams knows this, and will not be hard 
on thee, my wife, but will wait a little, I doubt 
not.’’ 

Then he closed his eyes wearily and 
opened them no more on earth. The poor wife, 
stricken and worn with grief, was an easy prey 
to the disease that even then had laid its heavy 
hand upon her, and very soon was laid beside 
the husband and children she loved, in the silent 
city of the dead. 

“ Take good care of little Ruth,’’ she whis- 
pered to her son at the last ; “ thou knowest 
what thy father said about the home. Thy old 


Aunt Eunice will give up her own house and 
come and live with thee. She has promised, 
and thou, my good son, will be obedient and 
good to her as thou hast ever been to me.’’ 
Then, with a loving look at the doubly orphaned 
children, she closed her eyes and died. 

But alas ! the hearts of men, closed to God’s 
love, are ofttimes pitiless. The Jew, Abrams, 
had long coveted the neat though humble home 
of Joseph Armenta for his own dwelling, and 
now, when fiy strict interpretation of the law, 
he could seize it, he was not slow to embrace 
the opportunity. Returning, sorrowful and 
weak, from his mother’s funeral, Joseph found 
him in possession of the house, and the lad was 
told that he and his sister could not lodge 
there even for that night, though the day was 
already far spent. In vain Joseph told him 
of his father’s last words and pleaded for a 
few days of grace. 

“ I will indeed pay thee, if thou wilt only 
wait,’’ he urged, with not unmanly tears. “ It 
is the only home we have, my little sister and 
I, and our parents told us to stay herein.” 

But Abrams only laughed as he said : “ Nay, 
my lad, it is thy home no longer, but mine. 
Thy father was an honest man, and would not 
wish me to be robbed of my just claim.” 

“ But I will pay thee soon the little due 
thee.” 

“ Show me now' thy gold,” the old man said 
greedily. 

But this Joseph w’as afraid to do, lest he 
should lose that also, so he only said: 

“ I cannot, to-day.” 

“ Then get thee gone !” the old man said 
angrily. “ And see that thou touchest nothing 
in this house but thine owm and- thy sister’s 
raiment ; all else is mine.” 

“ May I not take my bed?” 

“ Begone !” said the Jew'. “ One moment 
more of tarrying and thou shalt take not even 
thy raiment !” 

So Joseph, seeing that further argument was 
vain, w'ent hastily into the inner room, and 
while hurriedly gathering together his own and 
his sister’s scanty wardrobe into a small bundle, 
failed not to draw from its concealment and 
hide in his bosom the tiny purse of gold that 
now was his sole inheritance. He did this 
none too soon, for Abrams came into the room 
and watched him narrowly, as though to see 
that nothing was concealed. Joseph’s heart 


30 


MARCUS AND MIRIAM. 


trembled lest he should offer to search him ; 
but this he did not, contenting himself with say- 
ing sharply : 

“ There ! Thou hast enough,” and motion- 
ing him the door. 

Upon the threshold, Joseph turned and 
looked with longing eyes around the rooms 
so dear to him, clothed with so many sacred 
memories, the only home he could remem- 
ber, the place where his beloved parents had 
died. Then he turned to the old man, still 
narrowly watching him, and said : 

“ The God of the fatherless will reward thee. 
Thy bed beneath this roof will not be one of 
peace !” 

The old man raised his arm as though to 
strike him, but Joseph, turning, ran from the 
house and hastened to the home of his Aunt 
Eunice, where she and little Ruth had gone 
to prepare for her removal to their home. The 
aunt stood aghast as Joseph told his impas- 
sioned tale ; but she was a God-fearing woman, 
so when he had ceased and she had asked a 
few earnest questions, she said : 

‘‘ God’s will be done, my son. It is not as 
we have planned, but we may not murmur. 
The man has the law upon his side, and there 
is no mercy in his heart. We are poor and 
have no friends who can relieve us ; we must 
take up the burden as best we can. Thou and 
thy sister must stay here ; I am thy next of 
kin. These two little rooms are mine and 
thine, but whence food is to come for three, 
I know not. I manage to earn a little day by 
day, but often I have gone hungry to my bed. 
How can I feed you also, my poor children?” 

‘‘ My dear aunt,” said the boy, stoutly, “ am 
I to be a burden upon thee? Not so; my hands 
shall earn enough for all of us. Thou and my 
little sister shall keep the house, while I blow 
the furnace, as of old, in the great brass foundry 
where my father worked. When my father 
died the master workman promised I should 
have my place as soon as I was able to work 
again.” 

‘‘ God bless thee, lad !” said his aunt, fervently. 
” Thou hast not yet the strength for work, but 
He who sent the ravens to Elijah will not 
leave us comfortless.” 

With a sudden recollection Joseph thrust 
his hand into his bosom and drew forth the 
precious purse, and, pressing it into the hand of 
his aunt, said : 


“ So doth He even now provide.” Then, as: 
she looked in speechless astonishment at the 
gold within her hand, Joseph told how he had 
secured it and concealed it from the pitiless 
Abrams. 

“ Now God indeed be praised !” said the good 
woman. ” Yes, this was truly thine. Abrams 
had no right to this w^hen he took thy home. 
Thou hast a clear head, Joseph, as well as an 
honest hand.” 

So it came to pass that the three took up 
their life together with thankful hearts, and 
very soon Joseph returned to his old place in 
the brass foundry, where his father had worked 
for many years before his death. 

o 

CHAPTER VI. 

God doth not need 

Either man’s works or his own gifts ; who best 
Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best ; his 
state 

Is kingly ; thousands at his bidding speetf. 

And post o’er land and ocean without rest : 
They also serve who only stand and wait. 

— John Milton. 

T he heat from the great furnace proved 
too much for Joseph’s eyes, already 
greatly weakened by his severe illness, 
and they soon began to inflame. His nights 
were full of suffering from them, but he was a 
brave young fellow and wmuld not yield to the 
pain. He still kept on, week after week, with 
his work uncomplainingly. At last, one day 
when the heat was unusually severe, he fell 
prostrate, and was raised by his companions, 
insensible. They carried him to the outer air; 
but when they had brought him back to con- 
sciousness his sight was gone — he could see 
nothing. For several days he lay in a dark- 
ened room bemoaning his sad lot; but his hot 
tears only intensified his suffering, and his bit- 
ter lamenting wrung the hearts of his sister 
and aunt. At length the foreman of the 
foundry, who had become much attached ta 
Joseph, himself took him to one of the most 
eminent surgeons in the city, who examined 
the poor eyes carefully, then shook his head 
sadly at the foreman, and privately told him 
the boy would never see again. To Joseph he 
said ; “ Use this lotion till the inflammation 



A drunken horseman came thundering madly along. 


31 







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MARCUS AND MIRIAM. 


33 


abates, then we can tell better what you need.” 

The inflammation in the lids in time abated, 
but they opened not to the light again. 

As the weeks passed and the kind foreman 
ceased to visit his little friend, Joseph knew 
without words, that his case was hopeless, and 
tried to accept bravely what he felt to be inevi- 
table. But this was not so easy, when he 
thought of his aunt and little Ruth deprived 
of his assistance as a bread-winner. Then he 
almost rebelled. One day he said bitterly : 

“ I cannot see God’s justice in letting my 
good parents die, and their children suffer thus, 
and men like the money-lending Abrams live 
and prosper.” 

” Hush, hush, my son !” said his aunt. “ God 
will show forth his glory, sooner or later. Only 
be patient and bide his time.” 

“ Ah, yes,” said the boy, a little less bitterly, 
“ but where is the bread to come from in the 
meanwhile?” 

“ There are still ravens,” said his aunt, rev- 
erently. 

” I have thought of a way, brother Joseph,” 
said little Ruth, creeping up lovingly into his 
arms, as he sat brooding sorrowfully. 

“ Thou hast, little one?” said Joseph, smiling 
as he drew the dainty figure up to his heart. 
•“And what is thy way? May "we hear it?” 

“ Why, surely,” said the child. “ I am to 
go with thee to the gates of the synagogue 
every day ; surely, many will pity thy blind- 
ness.” 

“ Turn beggar !” said Joseph, bitterly. 

“ Nay,” said little Ruth, eagerly, “ thou art 
to do nothing but sit beside me at the gate. 
Even I will not ask alms, but when I see a 
kind face turned toward us, I will just hold 
out my little red cap, and surely many will 
flrop a mite therein.” 

The lad saw, in imagination, the little sunny 
head his mother had so loved, the pretty, up- 
turned face, and the extended hand with the 
crimson cap therein, and it was more than the 
overwrought nerves could bear. He broke into 
•convulsive sobs, as he pressed the little sister 
to his heart. Frightened at his violent weeping, 
she whispered : 

“ But, Joseph, we will not go if thou dost 
not wish to. Only what will Aunt Eunice do 
for our daily bread?” 

Her unselfishness brought back his self-con- 
trol, and, kissing her, he said quietly: 


“ Yes, we must help Aunt Eunice, dear. Thy 
plan is a good one. Shall we go at once?” 
For it was still early in the day. 

“ Oh, shall we?” said Ruth, starting up 
eagerly and running to fetch her cap. 

She kissed her aunt good-by, and, taking her 
brother’s hand, walked with him the short dis- 
tance that lay between their home and the 
synagogue. They found a shady seat in the 
shadow of the gate ; and Ruth’s plan worked 
even better than she hoped, for many were the 
coins dropped in the little cap held out so 
mutely, yet so appealingly, to the passers-by. 

Day after day they could be seen in the same 
place, and evening after evening found many 
coins in the crimson cap. But one evening, 
about two weeks after they first started out 
thus together, as they were crossing one of the 
narrow streets on their return home, a drunken 
horseman came thundering madly along, and 
everyone sought to escape his plunging horse, 
infuriated by the master’s whip and spur. 
Someone seized Joseph and dragged him out 
of harm’s way, and, trembling in every limb 
and with a great dread at his heart, he cried 
aloud : 

“ Ruth ! Ruth ! Oh, where is my little 
sister?’ 

The thundering hoofs had passed on down 
the street, and Joseph grew cold with fear as 
she did not answer him. Then he heard some- 
one near him say softly : 

“ Had he not better be told?” 

He turned almost fiercely in the direction of 
the speakers, crying out : 

“Tell me the worst at once! Is she dead?” 

“ Nay, nay ; she hath only swooned. The 
hoof of the great horse struck her back, but 
she will soon be all right. We have a litter to 
carry her home upon, and thou canst walk be- 
side and hold her hand, if thou wilt.” 

Greatly relieved, Joseph begged to be taken 
to his sister, and, bending over her, called her 
by all endearing names ; but for once her ear 
was deaf to the voice she so loved. Joseph 
walked sadly by the litter, holding the hand of 
the inanimate maiden. 

Results proved that the great hoof had 
struck the delicate spine and so injured it that 
the lower limbs would be paralyzed for life. 
Joseph’s grief was terrible at learning this, 
and he blamed himself ceaselessly for ever tak- 
ing her out to the street, when unable to protect 


34 


MARCUS AND MIRIAM. 


her. But as Ruth grew better she seemed to 
have matured with the suffering, and she tried 
ceaselessly to make her brother feel that they 
should be thankful that they were not both 
killed : that God had permitted this accident 
for some Vise purpose, which some day he would 
let them understand. But Joseph could not 
feel reconciled, and sat depressed and silent 
most of the time. 

One day Ruth said to him : “ Dost thou not 
see, my Joseph, how now, when there are two 
of us to claim pity, my little cap will be 
doubly heavy at night? Thou hast only to 
carry me in thy strong arms to the gate of the 
synagogue, for I can direct thy steps as well 
from thine arms as though I walked beside 
thee.” 

“ Dost think I ever will let thee go upon the 
street again in thy helplessness, to be a spectacle 
for curious eyes?” asked Joseph, almost fiercely. 
But little Ruth only patted his hand lovingly 
and answered him : 

“ I know thy kind heart too well, my Joseph, 
to believe thou wouldest deny me the sunshine 
because of a foolish fear. I am counting the 
hours till thou wilt take me forth again.” 

■ “ On to the doorstep, or under the shadow of 

this house wall, yes ; but never to the syna- 
gogue again, my sister.” 

“ And Aunt Eunice may toil from day to day 
to keep us in idleness,” was Ruth’s low-spoken 
answer. 

Joseph had no reply for this ; the thought 
was the sorrow of his life, yet he could see 
no way to remedy the evil except the one — 
to him abhorrent — course suggested by his 
sister. 

Ruth grew stronger from day to day, but 
to all it was apparent she would never walk 
again. Joseph now daily carried her out in 
the cool of the morning and evening, and 
sat with her in the shadow of the house, or 
oftener still carried her up upon the fiat roof 
of the little house, after the violent heat of the 
day had passed. One evening as they were sit- 
ting thus, Joseph recounting the stories his 
mother had told him in his childhood for the 
entertainment of his sister, their aunt ap- 
proached them with suppressed excitement in 
her manner. 

“What is it, Aunt Eunice?” asked little 
Ruth, seeing instinctively that something more 
than usual had occurred to excite her. 


“ Oh, my children !” she answered, approach- 
ing Joseph and laying a hand tenderly upon his 
shoulder, “ never question again the wisdom and 
justice of God, or doubt his care for the op- 
pressed. He metes out punishment and reward,, 
as his wisdom sees is best.” 

“What is it, aunt?” asked Joseph, awed by 
her manner. 

“ Last night the little home of thy father, 
that we all so loved, was burned by fire, and 
Abrams not only lost all that he possessed, but 
was himself so injured while trying to save his 
property that even if he survives his injuries, 
he will be blind for life.” 

Joseph, greatly excited, had arisen to his feet, 
and now cried earnestly : “ God forgive me for 
the curse I pronounced upon him ! God does 
recompense the evil-doer. Knowest thou how 
it came to pass?” 

“ None know, not even the man himself. He 
was aroused from slumber by someone pound- 
ing on his door and calling him. The whole 
house was burning when he awakened. He 
was so frightened and bewildered thatjje rushed 
out^ into the street before he thought of his 
money. He had been in the habit of taking his 
money and valuables home with him every night 
and hiding them in his own room for safety i 
and now he ran again into the burning house 
to secure them. What happened while he was 
there none know. Abrams says two men fol- 
lowed him into the house, and after he had 
secured his bag of money, knocked him down. 
The neighbors found him helpless on the floor 
of his room, his clothes all ablaze. They dragged 
him out and did everything possible for him, 
but he is crippled for life, even should he live, 
and penniless.” 

“ How much better off we are, after all, than 
he!” said Ruth. 

A few mornings after this, Ruth saw that 
a deeper shade of care was on the face of her 
aunt, and urged her lovingly to tell the cause-. 
After some hesitation she said : 

“ My dear children, it is wrong to trouble 
your young hearts, but I have spent my last 
mite for our breakfast, and know not whence 
the next meal is to come.” And the tears be- 
gan to flow over her face. 

“Is that all?” said little Ruth, cheerily. 
“ We will bring home my little cap full of 
coins to-day, will we not, Joseph? It needed 
something to make us go. We have been idle- 


MARCUS AND MIRIAM. 


35 


long enough, and I am longing for the sunshine 
once more.” 

“ Yes, come,” said Joseph, rising. “ Get her 
ready. Aunt Eunice, and I will carry her forth.” 

He felt he could resist no longer, and when 
his aunt said fervently, “ God bless you both, 
my children ; you have lifted a heavy burden 
off my heart,” he knew that he was right. Ruth 
was in an ecstasy of delight, and, while her 
aunt prepared her for the walk, chattered in- 
cessantly. 

” Who knows but the blessed prophet of Naz- 
areth may heal the eyes of our Jos.eph, as he 
did the eyes of the blind man by the wayside, 
of whom you told us yesterday?” said Ruth. 
“ Oh, would it not be glorious to have our Joseph 
see again ! Does he really do all the wonder- 
ful things the people tell of him?” 

“ I think he does, Ruth. He must be good, 
and have this wonderful power frbm God. I 
would myself love to see him,” said the good 
aunt. 

“ I shall watch for him as he goes to the 
synagogue,” said Ruth, eagerly, ” and beg him 
to heal Joseph. *He will pass close to us as he 
goes through the gate. Perhaps he may come 
to-day — who knows? Oh, hurry, brother ! let us 
go at once !” 

“ Place her upon my arm, cushion and all,” 
said Joseph, to his aunt. He was visibly 
touched by the conversation. Could this Jesus, 
of whom he had heard so much, really heal him 
as he had healed others? It seemed more than 
he could believe. 

Ruth guided him very skillfully from her seat 
on his arm, and they were soon in their old 
place in the shadow of the gate. Joseph placed 
the cushion he had brought so as to make her 
as comfortable as possible, and the pathetic 
picture the two formed, sitting in their help- 
lessness side by side, touched all hearts and 
brought many coins into the little cap. 

“ 1 am afraid the prophet will not come to- 
day,” said Ruth, as the shadows began to 
lengthen. “ But he will come to us before many 
days ; I am sure he will.” 

“You are tired, little sister; I must take 
you home.” 

“ I think I am hungry,” said Ruth, pathet- 
ically ; “ we did not have a very sumptuous 
breakfast. But will we not have a good sup- 
per?” she asked, triumphantly, as she made 
Joseph feel the weight of the little cap. She 


placed the coins in the leather pouch, usually 
quite empty, that Joseph carried concealed in 
his tunic ; and putting the cap upon her head, 
Joseph lifted her in his arms, and they were 
soon safely at home, to the relief and joy of 
their aunt. 

0 

CHAPTER VII. 

Be not o’ermastered by thy pain. 

But cling to God : thou shalt not fall ; 

The floods sweep over thee in vain. 

Thou yet shalt rise above them all : 

For when thy trial seems too hard to bear, 

Lo ! God thy King hath granted all thy prayer : 
Be thou content. 

— P. Oerhardt. 

D ay after day found the brother and sis- 
ter in the same place, and day after day 
God touched the hearts of the people, so 
that they never returned empty-handed. But little 
Ruth watched in vain for the coming of the 
great prophet who was to restore her brother’s 
sight. Her faith grew stronger as the days 
passed. If only he would come, she was sui'e 
that he would be pitiful and heal her brother. 
But Jesus had gone into the hill country to 
teach the people there and heal their suffer- 
ings. This, Ruth could not know, as day by 
day she strained her eyes looking down the 
narrow street to catch the first glimpse of his 
coming, and praying in her trusting little heart 
that God would send him to them. She had 
ceased to talk about him, but she watched and 
prayed the more ; and no one ever waited and 
trusted in the Lord in vain. 

One day the heat was unusually great even 
for that warm country, and Joseph and Ruth 
were early in their places by the gate in order 
to avoid walking in the hot sunshine later in 
the day. The air w’as sultry and oppressive, 
and the Lake of Galilee, in the near distance, 
showed not even a ripple upon the bosom of 
its waters. As the hours passed and the 
heated atmosphere grew more and more op- 
pressive, even Ruth, with her vivacious, cheery 
temperament, grew languid and depressed, and 
finally said to her brother : 

“ I am so tired, Joseph. Dosit thou not think 
we might go home? The people have been very 
kind to-day, and already many coins are in the 
little cap.” 


36 


MARCUS AND MIRIAM. 


Joseph’s heart was instantly on the alert for 
fear of ill to his sister, and he asked anxiously : 
“Art ill, my little Ruth? Has the pain re- 
turned then to thy head or thy spine?’’ 

“ Nay, nay ; I am not ill,” she answered 
quickly. “ Only the heat is so oppressive that 
even the trees seem to dance before my eyes 
and the houses to sway, and I am so tired of 
watching for — Oh, why does he delay !” and 
tears trickled slowly down the pale cheeks 
of the girl. These Joseph could not see, but 
he feared, from her words and her languid 
voice, that she was really ill. 

“ Come, dearest, we will go at once,” he said, 
making ready to rise. 

At that moment a murmur as of many voices 
in glad chorus fell on their ears and the tramp 
of many feet approaching them. 

“ Hark ! hark !” said Ruth, breathlessly, lay- 
ing her hand on Joseph’s arm to detain him. 
“ Dost thou not hear? Oh, Joseph, he is com- 
ing ! At last he is coming !” She raised her- 
self as far as she could in her helpless condition 
and looked wistfully down the street. 

“ Yes, yes, it is he ! I see him plainly now ; 
and many others are with him. They are com- 
ing directly toward the gate. Oh, Joseph, he 
is looking at us! He is here!” 

It was indeed Jesus, and his heart was filled 
with compassion as he looked upon the two 
helpless children. Ruth had framed many 
pretty speeches in her childish heart that she 
would make to him, pleading for the restora- 
tion of her brother’s eyes, when he should 
come ; but now that he was actually standing 
before them — for he had stopped beside them — 
she could only stretch out one thin little hand 
to him appealingly, while the other rested on 
her brother’s shoulder, and falter out pathet- 
ically, with her sweet, flower-like face uplifted : 

“Teacher! My brother! He — is — hlmd!” 

Joseph had grown very white, even to the 
lips, with emotion, when he heard that the 
wonderful prophet of Nazareth was really beside 
them ; and he, too, lifted his face with its 
sightless eyes to where he felt the prophet 
stood, and his lips moved as if in prayer ; but 
no one except Jesus heard the plea he uttered : 
“ My little sister, teacher — heal her, heal her !” 

Jesus leaned over and looked earnestly into the 
face of the blind boy, then he laid a hand 
tenderly on each young head, and said softly 
but impressively : 


“ According to your faith be it unto you !” 

He had no need to ask them of their belief; 
faith in his power was stamped on each young 
face. As the impressive words were spoken, 
Joseph opened his eyes, so long closed to the 
light, and the first object his restored vision 
caught was the face of Jesus, as it bent ten- 
derly above him ; and that remained indelibly 
impressed upon his heart. Ruth had kept her 
eyes fixed upon her brother’s face from the 
moment Jesus bent over him, and now, when 
she saw his eyes open and look up intelligently 
into his face, she sprang joyously to her feet, 
and throwing her arms about his neck in rap- 
ture, cried : 

“ Thou dost see, my Joseph ! Thou dost 
see ! Thanks be to God and his prophet !” 

Joseph held her close to his heart and faltered, 
“ And thou, my little sister, thou, too, art 
healed !” 

And then for the first time Ruth realized 
that she was using her paralyzed limbs as 
freely as in her childhood. In her joy over 
her brother’s recovery she had not once«4;hought 
of herself, but, as often follows unselfish devo- 
tion, she found that the blessing had also fallen 
upon her own head. 

“ Oh, let us find and worship him !” she cried. 

But when, after this instant of almost deliri- 
ous joy, they turned to seek him “ he had passed 
through their midst ” and disappeared. 

“ Oh, Joseph, we must find him !” little Ruth 
cried. And someone pointing down a narrow 
street as the way the prophet had gone, they 
hastened, hand-in-hand, that way, hoping to 
overtake him and pour forth their gratitude. 

They hurried joyously on, Joseph walking 
with firm, true step and with head erect, while 
Ruth danced happily beside him, all languor 
and depression gone, and all thought of the 
oppressive heat forgotten. 

Marcus, the nephew of Jairus, in passing 
to and from the synagogue, had become much 
interested in the two unfortunate children who 
daily sat in the shadow of the gate, and more 
than one coin had found its way from his hand 
into the little cap of Ruth. He soon saw they 
were no common mendicants, and little by little, 
had drawn their sad history from them. He 
providentially chanced — if such a phrase may 
be allowed — to be passing at the time of their 
miraculous healing, and witnessed it all with 
a sympathetic heart. He also wanted to find 


MARCUS AND MIRIAM. 


37 


the Christ, as he now firmly believed Jesus to 
be, on Miriam’s account ; so he, too, was greatly 
disappointed that he had so quietly and quickly 
disappeared during the brief instant of their 
first great joy. Seeing Joseph and Ruth start 
on the search for him, he followed closely after 
them, so that if they found him, he, too, could 
make his plea. 

As the children hurried on, they saw a 
man, decrepit and blind, sitting near the 
gateway of a large mansion, holding his 
mendicant’s cap despondently in his hand. The 
children’s hearts, so full of gratitude and joy, 
were filled with pity, and they paused as though 
they would speak to him. Marcus drew near 
and whispered in Joseph’s ear, “It is Abrams, 
who robbed your dead father.” Joseph drew 
back an instant, then, reaching for the little 
cap, still in Ruth’s hand, he emptied the entire 
contents into 'the old man’s cap, and hastened 
on. 

Hearing the unusual rattle of coin in his 
cap, the beggar called out excitedly : 

“ Who art thou who so bounteously remem- 
berest the unfortunate?” Then as the echo of 
receding footsteps alone reached his ear, he 
called after Joseph : 

“ The God of Israel multiply thy blessings 
day by day for evermore.” 

Marcus bent and whispered : “ Thy benefactor 
is the lad Joseph, whom thou didst rob of home 
and all the comforts of life, and whose sight 
has just been restored by the prophet of Naz- 
areth. His gift to thee is the gratitude of his 
heart for God’s great mercy to him.” 

“ Eh? What sayest thou? Joseph’s sight 
restored? Now God be merciful to me a sin- 
ner !” And the old man’s head sank despond- 
ently upon his breast. But Marcus noted that 
his hand, through it all, clutched tightly the 
cap that contained the coin. His avaricious 
heart could rise no higher ! Of such it has been 
said, “ He is joined to his idols, let him alone.” 



CHAPTER VIII. 

Thou art my King, 

My King henceforth alone ; 

And I, thy servant. Lord, am all thine own. 
Give me thy strength. Oh, let thy dwelling be 
In this poor heart that pants, my Lord, for thee ! 

— Tersteegen. 

W HEN Joseph and Ruth found that it 
was impossible for them at that time 
to find Jesus, they turned from the 
more public street upon which they had been 
walking, and hastened down a narrow side- 
street that brought them to their own home. 
They could scarcely wait, in their eagerness 
to show their aunt what had been done for 
them. They had left her that morning, the one 
a hopeless cripple, the other blind for life ; 
they return to her well and strong I What 
could she say? Marcus had hastened after 
them, and reached the open door in time to 
see the rapturous delight of their old aunt, and 
her almost incredulous surprise at the restora- 
tion of her two dearly loved children. 

“ Joseph,” she would repeat again and again, 
“ canst thou truly see me?” 

“ Yes, aunt, as well as I ever saw thee in 
my life.” 

“ Now God be praised ! And my little Ruth 
on her own feet again ! Child, let me see thee 
walk.” 

“ Wouldest see me dance?” said Ruth, mer-^ 
rily, dancing about the floor with graceful 
curves and bows, as she had seen the singing 
girls do on the public feast days. 

“ My children, let us thank God for his 
wonderful mercy to us.” And dropping upon 
their knees, she threw her arms about the 
two and poured forth a fervent prayer of 
thanksgiving and praise, while tears and sobs 
choked her utterance. Marcus withdrew to a 
little distance, till their outburst of grateful 
joy had in a measure subsided, then he again 
approached the open door. Ruth was the first 
to see him, and darted forward, crying : 

“ Oh, Aunt Eunice, this is my good young 
man !” and drew him to her aunt’s side, where 
she recounted, to his no small embarrassment, 
his many acts of kindness when she had sat be- 
side the gate of the synagogue. He found the 
aunt a plain but intelligent woman, and to- 
gether they all talked over the wonderful events 
of the morning. 



38 


MARCUS AND MIRIAM. 


“ To think I am no longer blind !” said 
Joseph, pacing the room excitedly. “ I, who 
went forth this morning so heart-broken and 
depressed !” And the tears sprang into his 
bright eyes in spite of himself. 

“ What was your first thought, Joseph, when 
he opened your eyes to-day?” asked Marcus. 

Joseph stopped his excited w'alking and sat 
dowm soberly enough, facing Marcus. A won- 
derful look of reverence and love stole over his 
face as he said softly : 

“ The first thing I saw when my eyes were 
opened was the face of Jesus bending over me, 
and my first thought was, ‘ Thou are the Christ, 
the Holy One of God !’ ” 

Everything was silence for some moments, 
then Marcus said : 

“ Believest thou he is the promised Messiah?” 

“ With my whole heart,” said the youth ; and 
Aunt Eunice whispered “ Amen.” 

“ Joseph,” said Marcus, presently, “ I started 
out to find a messenger for my uncle’s palace, 
this morning. God seems to have led me here. 
Wilt thou take the place?” 

“ Dost think I could worthily fill it?” asked 
Joseph, earnestly. 

“ Thy very question is sufficient answer in it- 
self,” said Marcus. “ He whose first thought 
is to honor the place he fills, instead of schem- 
ing to have the place honor him, is sure to fill 
it worthily. If thou art willing to go. I shall 
be glad to take thee,” he added, rising. 

“ I will do my best,” was Joseph’s answer ; 
and they, went away together, after bidding 
adieu to Ruth and her aunt. 

Joseph was soon uniformed and installed in 
his new office, where he became one of the most 
trusted messengers. 



CHAPTER IX. 

Leave God to order all thy ways. 

And hope in him, whate’er betide. 

Thou’lt find him, in the evil days. 

Thy all-sufficient strength and guide. 

Who trusts in God’s unchanging love 

Builds on the Rock that naught can move. 

— George Neumarck. 

4 ( T\ /f ARCUS,” said Miriam, a few days 
I^yX ^^ter the events narrated in the 
last chapter, “ I like the face of 
Joseph, thy new messenger. It is an honest, 
true face. I long to hear him tell of how 
Jesus healed him of his blindness. I want also 
to hear his little sister tell the story ; they say 
she is very bright and pretty, and that it was 
through her faith and prayers that Jesus healed 
both Joseph and herself. Could she not come 
to us in my mother’s rooms, and could not 
Joseph also come there with thee?” 

“ If my honored aunt, thy mother, will it so, 
I will be more than glad to bring them there 
at any time,” said Marcus. 

‘‘ She not only is willing, but anxiouS^ to see 
and hear them both, and my father also desires 
to know" when they come, that he, too, may hear 
the story from their own lips. ' 

‘‘At w’hat hour shall I bring them?” 

“ Oh, Marcus, soon ! I am so impatient to 
hear them that I cannot wait.” 

“ An hour hence, then, let it be. I saw it 
all, and it w"as wonderful, indeed ! I am more 
than anxious that thou shouldest hear- the story 
from their owm lips.” 

“ Thou didst see it all ! Would that I, too, 
could see this wondrous man ! Tell me again, 
my Marcus, how Ruth sprang upon her crippled 
feet without a thought. Oh, it w'as wonderful !” 

” She had w’holly forgotten herself in think- 
ing of her brother. Indeed, she had asked noth- 
ing for herself, but only that his sight might 
be restored. And when Jesus leaned over him 
and looked on his sightless eyes, her gaze was 
riveted upon her brother’s face, feeling, as she 
now says, that there was not a doubt that 
he would be healed. When she saw the long- 
sealed lids unclose, and Joseph look up into the 
face of Jesus, she gave one rapturous cry and 
sprang lightly upon her feet, without a thought 
of their helplessness, and fell upon her brother’s 
neck for joy. Her ‘ faith had changed to sight, 
her hope to fruition.’ ” 


MARCUS AND MIRIAM. 


39 


“And what did Joseph do? Tell me again.” 

“ Gathered her to his heart and cried, ‘ Thou, 
too, my little sister, thou, too, art healed !’ ” 

“ And then she knew !” said Miriam, with 
dilated, tear-filled eyes. 

“ Yes, then she knew that God had doubly 
honored her faith,” said Marcus. “ But now, 
my Miriam, thou must rest, thy nerves are all 
unstrung ; and an hour hence I will bring Joseph 
and Ruth to thy honored mother’s room.” 

“ It fills me with such peace to hear these 
things,” said Miriam, as she turned and joined 
Ayeah, waiting at a little distance for her, and 
reentered the palace. An hour later, they all 
were gathered in the salon in the mother’s wing 
of the palace, when Marcus entered with Joseph 
and his sister. The manners of both were 
modest and attractive, without subservience, 
when they were presented to Jairus and his 
wife, and Ruth’s face grew very bright when 
she looked on Miriam. They told their wonder- 
ful story simply and without embellishment, 
and answered all questions asked by Jairus and 
his wife with unaffected simplicity, though both 
faces shone with an almost divine light, as they 
spoke of Jesus. 

“ Dost thou then believe, Joseph,” said Jairus, 
“ that this Jesus of Nazareth, who truly hath 
wonderfully restored thy sight and put new 
life into the paralyzed limbs of thy little sister, 
is the promised Christ?” 

“ How else could he do these things?” said 
Joseph, respectfully. “ Yes, my master, I do 
believe he is the promised Christ, so often fore- 
told by the prophets.” 

Jairus made no reply, but he held out his 
hand to his daughter sitting close beside him 
and drew her to his heart. Her tears had 
flown freely during the narrative, and now she 
whispered to her father : 

“ ^^lay I not have Ruth as my companion ? 
She is so bright and lovely ! I am sure she 
would make me happy.” 

Jairus looked at the golden-haired girl with 
face like a meadow lily, with a beauty 
from which even the plain garb of her class 
could not detract, and his heart warmed in- 
stinctively to her. But he only said softly to 
Miriam : 

“ Art thou not then happy, my little daugh- 
ter?” 

“ Oh, very, very happy, my father ; but at 
times I am lonely, when not with thee or my 


mother or Marcus. Then Ruth would be a 
comfort. I could teach her to embroider and 
to read to me, and she could do many little 
things that Ayeah is too old to learn.” 

The father listened, smoothing her soft hair, 
and all the time scrutinizingly observing the 
stranger maiden. At length he held his hand out 
to Ruth, and, when she came to him, he said : 

“ Wouldest thou like to be always near my 
daughter Miriam?” 

“ Oh,” said Rufh, delightedly, “ could I 
wait on her, and braid her hair, and fan her 
while she slept, and — ” 

“ Y"es,” said Miriam’s father, smiling, “ I 
suppose it would be something like that, would 
it not, Miriam?” 

Miriam was now sitting up beside her father, 
and she drew Ruth to her, putting her arm 
around her and saying wistfully : 

“And wouldest thou love me, little Ruth?” 

“ That I already do,” and, bending over 
Miriam, she tenderly kissed the fragile hand of 
the girl. 

“ Well, go and talk it over with thy mother. 
I see no reason why it should not be, if it 
will make thee happy.” 

Miriam’s mother sent for Ruth’s Aunt 
Eunice, and soon the matter was settled that 
Ruth should be adopted into the household of 
Jairus, as well as her brother. And not only 
did this happy lot fall to Ruth and Joseph, but 
the wife of Jairus, with true womanly delicacy, 
said to their Aunt Eunice : 

“ Since we have taken your son and daughter 
from you, you must permit us also to adopt 
you, in a measure, and supply in part what 
otherwise they would have done for you.” 
And thenceforth, from the great house went 
a constant supply of the necessaries of life to 
the widow’s cottage, so that the last years of 
her life were full of rest and peace. 

“ Joseph,” she said to her nephew, on 
one of his visits to her, “ God’s ravens have 
indeed brought to us a bountiful supply; we 
did well to trust him !” 

“Indeed, yes, aunt!” was Joseph’s glad re- 
ply. “ And your faith never failed, even when 
mine was weakest, in those our darkest days.” 

“ Ruth was often my monitor,” said her aunt. 

“ She is an angel of blessing in our house,” 
said Joseph. “ I do not wonder that Jesus 
loved and listened to her, when she pleaded for 
me. Oh, Aunt Eunice ! what would my life 


40 


MARCUS AND MIRIAM, 


have been but for his mercy that day? And 
now we are all watching to find him when he 
is here and ask him to heal our mistress Miriam. 
She is patient and lovely, and such a sufferer ! 
And we feel that Jesus would heal all of 
her infirmities. She believes in him fully. She 
says Ruth is such a comfort and blessing to 
her, and she never wearies of having Ruth talk 
to her about the day he met us at the gate.” 


CHAPTER X. 

She is not dead, hut sleepeth . — Luke 8 : 52. 

Be patient, suffering soul ! I hear thy cry. 
The trial fires may glow, but I am nigh. 

I see the silver, and I will refine 
Until my image shall upon it shine. 

Fear not, for I am near, thy help to be ; 
Greater than all thy pain, my love for thee. 

—H. TF. C. 

A FEW days after this visit of Joseph to 
his aunt, and some little time after he 
had entered into the service of Jairus, 
Ruth was in Miriam’s private room, engaged 
in the, to her, delightful employment of brush- 
ing out the long, beautiful hair of her young mis- 
tress. Suddenly Miriam threw up her arms, 
and, with a stifled cry, fell forward from the 
couch upon which she was sitting to the floor, 
in violent convulsions. Ayeah, who was never 
far distant from her, rushed forward, and, lift- 
ing her into her arms, laid her tenderly upon 
the couch and began chafing the bloodless hands, 
calling to Ruth to run quickly for Miriam’s 
mother and the palace physician. 

Ruth never had seen Miriam so violently 
ill before, and was greatly alarmed. She has- 
tened to do as she was bidden, and soon the 
frightened household were gathered about the 
bed of the beloved sufferer. 

“Oh! may not Joseph seek for Jesus?” Ruth 
exclaimed, with trembling lips, as Miriam’s 
mother fell, half fainting, beside the couch on 
which her daughter lay, evidently dying. 

Miriam’s dull ear caught the name and her 
pale lips gasped, “ Jesus !” 

“ Go ! go !” said Jairus to Marcus. “ Seek thou 
for the prophet till he is found. Let Joseph 
also go, and if you find him, quickly bring me 
word.” 

The two young men ran hurriedly out in dif- 


ferent directions, if haply they might find him 
on whom alone their hopes now hung. Mean- 
while, convulsion after convulsion shook the 
form of the sufferer, each one leaving her 
weaker and with less hope of recovery. There 
would come, npw and then, a lucid interval, 
when she would look pleadingly into the agonized 
faces of her father and mother as they bent 
over her, and whisper, “ Jesus.” In one of these, 
the father whispered to her : 

“ Marcus hath gone to seek him ; Joseph hath 
also gone ; they soon will come.” 

“ Go thou likewise,” she murmured. Then 
the dread paroxysm came. 

“ Yes, go !” the frantic mother pleaded ; 
“ thou mayest find him, and thy presence here 
cannot save her.” 

So the agonized father himself went hurriedly 
forth. In the outer court he met Joseph, breath- 
less from haste. 

“ He is at the house of Matthew, the publican. 
There has been a great feast ; it is now over, 
but they are still at table. Thod wilt find him 
there.” 

“ Thank God that he is found ! Tell#4hy mis- 
tress that he is found, and bid her tell Miriam 
when she next rouses that he will soon be here.” 

But alas ! there were to come no more lucid 
intervals to the poor sufferer ; for even as the 
father was talking, the guileless spirit had 
slipped from its tenement of clay. Not knowing 
this, the father hastened with all speed to the 
house of Matthew, where he indeed found Jesus 
still sitting by the table talking to those about 
him, although the feast itself was ended. Jairus 
threw himself at the feet of Jesus, crying : 

“ Master, my little daughter, my only and 
well-beloved child, is dying. If thou wilt but 
come and lay thy hand upon her she will live. 
To thee alone the power of saving her is given.” 

The father’s agony and his evident faith in 
Jesus touched with compassion the heart of 
the teacher, and he arose at once and signified 
his willingness to accompany him. As they 
pressed their way through the crowd outside, 
that had grown very great, Jesus suddenly 
turned and asked, “ Who touched me?” Simon 
Peter, the practical, said to him, “ The multi- 
tude presseth thee on every side, and askest 
thou, ‘Who touched me?’” But Jesus knew 
someone with faith in his power to heal had 
touched him, to be rid of some disease. And, 
as he turned about and looked, a woman cast 



Jeaus laid his hand in Messing on her head. 


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MARCUS AND MIRIAM. 


43 


herself, weeping, at his feet, confessing that she 
had but “ touched the hem of his garment,” and 
that she was instantly healed of an infirmity 
from which for twelve years she had suffered. 
Did J^us rebuke her? Nay, he only said 
kindly, ” Daughter, go in peace ; thy faith hath 
saved thee.” And from that hour she was well. 

All of this, together with the great crowd 
through which they had to pass, delayed Jesus 
and Jairus, so that, long before they could 
reach the palace gates, Joseph met them and 
said to Jairus : 

“ They sent me to tell thee that our little 
mistress Miriam is already dead, and thou 
needest not trouble the prophet. But oh, my 
master !” Joseph added, softly, “ he hath power 
even to raise the dead !” 

Jesus heard the words, and, turning a kindly 
look upon the young man, said gently to Jairus, 
■“ Fear not ; only believe,” and the words and 
look put fresh courage into the father’s heart 
as they pressed on. 

Reaching the palace, they found the house 
filled with hired mourners, and the little maid 
already prepared for burial, while the stricken 
mother was wailing beside the bier, and Marcus 
and Ruth were standing motionless behind the 
draperies of the great window. Seeing Ayeah 
near the doorway, crouching down in her sorrow, 
Jesus touched her gently upon the shoulder, 
and, when she looked up, said : 

“ Prepare nourishing food and bring it at 
once to the room of thy little mistress, that 
she may eat !” 

With startled eyes she looked up into his face 
and wailed : 

“ My Master, she will never eat again. The 
maid is dead.” 

“ Nay, she but sleepeth,” he answered her. 

The hired mourners laughed scornfully at him, 
but he put them all out of the room and bade 
Joseph keep watch beside the door, admitting 
none. 

Then he took Peter, James and John into 
the room where Jairus and his wife were alone 
with their dead child, and, approaching the 
couch whereon the still form rested, he took 
the pale hands into one of his own, and with 
the other hand touched the waxen eyelids, say- 
ing gently : 

“ Maiden, arise !” 

The white lids slowly opened; and the dark 
eyes for an instant looked wonderingly up into 


the face above her ; then a smile broke over her 
face, and she said softly : 

“ I have waited long, but I knew that thou 
wouldest come.” 

Jesus smiled back into the dreamy eyes, and, 
lifting her to her feet, laid his hands in blessing 
on her head, then bade them feed her with the 
food Ayeah had prepared. 

The crowd outside was quietly dispersed by 
Jairus himself appearing and telling them the 
young girl was well and quietly eating the food 
prepared for her. Miriam took the food as 
Ayeah gave it to her, but when Jesus would 
have quietly passed from the room, she arose 
and stretched forth her hands appealingly to 
him, crying : 

“ Jesus ! Teacher ! Leave me not, I entreat 
thee !” 

He turned and passed swiftly to her side 
again, his face full of tenderness, and, taking 
her hands in his, bent over her and whispered 
softly : 

“ Thou art indeed one of my very own, 
my child. I shall often see thee ; I will never 
be far away from thee. Canst trust me?” 

Miriam had been covering his hands with her 
tears and kisses, and now she raised her tearful 
face, radiant with smiles, and said joyously : 

“ Oh, if thou wilt surely return to me, wilt 
sometimes take up thine abode with us, I will 
be content.” 

“ I will return,” he said. “ Never fear ; I 
will return before many days.” And, once more 
laying his hands upon her head in blessing, he 
passed through the room into the corridor with- 
out. There, by the entrance where he had 
placed Joseph on guard, he found him still 
standing, and by him his sister Ruth. 

” Thou art a faithful guard,” Jesus said, smil- 
ing kindly upon the young lad, and added, 
“ Thou art now free to go to thy other duties ; 
be faithful in all things as thou hast been in 
this, if thou wouldest conquer.” 

Then Joseph and Ruth fell on their knees 
before him, crying. 

“Blessed teacher, dost thou not know us?” 
Joseph said. “ Thou didst heal us at the great 
gates. We have sought thee everywhere.” 

“ Yes, I know you both. You are such as 
my Father loves.” 

“ Thou art the Christ. Thou art the promised 
Messiah,” said Ruth, reverently, lifting her 
sweet child face to his, radiant with love. 


44 


MARCUS AND MIRIAM. 


Miriam was very quiet, saying little through- 
out the day, but her face was radiant with a 
joy and peace. Marcus hovered about her with 
delight and awe upon his face, and her father 
and mother never left her room, though they re- 
frained from talking much with her. Something 
holy seemed to have dropped about her as a 
mantle, and all recognized and paid it honor. 
Ruth sat on a footstool at her feet, scarcely 
removing her eyes from the happy face, and 
her own face was scarcely less radiant, while 
Ayeah crouched on the floor in a corner of the 
room and still looked dazed, bewildered and 
happy. 

What an event had happened to that entire 
household that day ! Into each heart, from that 
of Jairus down to the humble slave wmman, 
had come the certainty that Christ, the Son 
of God, had entered into their dwelling and 
called back to life their beloved one ; and 
their hearts were overcome with awe and grati- 
tude. What had happened to Miriam in that 
brief space of unconsciousness? “ Did she her- 
self know’?” w’ondered each heart. At last, 
toward evening, Miriam said dreamily : 

“ Marcus, w’as I asleep w’hen Jesus came to- 
day?” • 

“ Yes, dear,” he replied, quietly. 

“ In a perfectly dead sleep, was I not?” 

“I think so; w’hy do you ask?” 

” I think I must have been dreaming at the 
time,” she said. “ I thought I was walking in 
a w’ondrously beautiful garden, full of trees 
and fountains and flow’ers and birds, and little 
children everywhere. A lovely bright being 
wmlked beside me ; but somehow I felt that for 
some reason I shrank from him and w’anted to 
go over and join the children. And then I looked 
up and saw’ coming directly tow’ards us the very 
man that I had dreamed of w’hen a child. As he 
approached us he held out his hand, so that 
the angel w’ith me stopped. 

“Then Jesus said (for now I know it is he), 

‘ There is still much for her to do,’ and, taking 
my hand, he turned me about, and together w’e 
walked back the w’ay I had come, the angel 
passing on and leaving us alone together. We 
w’alked on a little way in silence, then, as w’e 
w’ere passing a fragrant bank of flowers, I 
said, ‘Teacher, I am very tired; may I rest?’ 

‘ Assuredly you may,’ he answered gently ; ‘ rest 
on these fragrant blossoms,’ leading me into 
their midst. I lay down, and I think I must 


have fallen asleep at once, for the next I 
knew I heard his voice saying, ‘ Maid, arise.’ 
And I w’as surprised to find I was here in my 
own room, and Jesus w’as bending over me.” 

“ But you spoke at once to him, as though 
you W’ere expecting him,” said Marcus. 

“ Yes, I W’as not at all surprised to see him 
here.” 

Hearing her talking, her parents came for- 
ward to where she was sitting, and Jairus said 
tenderly : 

“ How is my daughter now?” 

“ Well, my father, well — and oh, so happy I 
Is it not almost too wonderful to believe that the 
Christ has been to us w’ithin our very doors, and 
has brought strength and health to me? To 
me !” 

She raised her bright face to her mother, 
and, reaching up her arms, drew her face down 
against her own, whispering, “ My mother I 
My beloved mother !” 

The mother drew’ her to her heart, and the 
long-suppressed excitement broke forth in sobs, 
as she said, brokenly : 

“ Oh, my precious daughter, it w’OultT indeed 
have been a desolate house this evening, if he 
had not come !” 

Miriam drew her head back, so that she 
could look her mother in the face, and said in 
a half-startled way : 

“Mother! Was I then already dead?'* 

Everyone was startled at the question, and 
no one answ’ered. She looked from one to the 
other in turn, then seeing Ruth at her feet, she 
leaned forward and placed her hand under 
Ruth’s chin, turned the child-face up till the 
eyes met her ow’n, and looking straight into 
their depths, she slow’ly questioned : 

“ Ruth, thou never didst deceive me ; tell me 
truly : TFas 1 dead?” 

The great tear-drops rolled down Ruth’s 
cheeks, but she could not speak. 

“ I am answ’ered,” said Miriam, kissing Ruth’s 
forehead as she spoke. “ Then I was not dream- 
ing, but really walking in spirit with the Christ. 
And that must have been the angel of death 
with whom I w’alked at first. Well, he was 
beautiful ; but I shrank from him — perhaps be- 
cause it was not God’s will that he should take 
me yet. Is it not passing strange? I have 
been out of the body, yet am still here. Oh, 
my father ! my mother !” — giving a hand to each 
— “ shall we not follow the teachings of this 


MARCUS AND MIRIAM. 


45 


wonderful Christ? Shall we not be a house- 
hold,” — looking around upon them all — “ of his 
devoted followers?” 

The tears were in all eyes as Jairus, bending 
over, kissed his little daughter and whispered 
brokenly, “ We will.” 

“ And he will come and teach us. He prom- 
ised he would come,” she continued, eagerly. 

“ Yes, dearest, he will come. But now if we 
are to keep our daughter well as he has made 
her, we must do our part, and not allow her to 
exhaust her strength. Ayeah will bring your 
evening meal, then help you retire for the night. 
And may the blessed Christ send you refreshing 
slumber,” said her mother. 

“ Oh, my mother, I am so strong and well ! 
Must I really go so early?” 

“It is best, my daughter.” 

“ Then I will do whatever thou shalt bid me. 
I am my mother’s daughter, as well as a disciple 
of Jesus of Nazareth. My love for him intensi- 
fies my love and reverence for thee.” 

0 

CHAPTER XI. 

I’ve found a friend ; oh, such a friend ! 

He loved me ere I knew Him ; 

He drew me with the cords of love, 

And thus He bound me to Him. 

And ’round my heart still closely twine 
Those ties which naught can sever ; 

For I am His, and He is mine. 

Forever and forever. 

G. Small. 

WONDER,” said Miriam, a few days 
J[ after her wonderful restoration, “ I won- 
der why Jesus does not come to us? He 
promised that he would.” 

She was standing at a window in the palace 
and was looking wistfully down the narrow 
street. Even the few days had wrought a great 
change in the young girl. The sickly pallor, so 
often, heretofore, on her face, was entirely gone, 
and the flesh looked roseate and full of life. 
The large eyes were no longer languid, but full 
of a clear, happy light ; the hitherto feeble step 
had grown firm and elastic; and she flew from 
room to room and from corridor to garden, 
singing with the freedom and abandon of a bird. 
It was almost impossible to believe she was 
the same maiden so long the anxiety and care 
of her father’s household. Ayeah had lost her 


lifelong charge, and seemed bewildered, as 
though she could not comprehend the change. 
Ruth glowed with happiness, and flitted here 
and there with a buoyancy unusual even to 
her, and many and inexhaustible were the con- 
versations she and Miriam held about the great 
teacher. It was to her Miriam had addressed 
her remark in the opening of the chapter. 

“ We must not forget, my mistress, that we 
are not the only ones who need his help, and 
long for the presence of Jesus,” Ruth softly 
said. “ To both of us he hath already given 
wonderful strength and health, and I am sure 
it is but natural and right that we should wish 
to be near him, but — there are others who 
need him more. Forgive me, dear Miriam, but 
what would Joseph and poor I have done but 
for his blessed habit of ‘ going about doing 
good’?” 

“ You are right, my Ruth ; and we must not 
be selfish, much as our hearts yearn for him. 
He will come very soon, however, I am sure, 
because you know he promised that he would.” 

“ Yes, he will come soon ; in that you are 
right, I know. He will come soon, because he 
knows we love him,” said Ruth, with spark- 
ling eyes. 

“ Come, let us go into the garden for our 
morning walk, while the dew yet hangs upon 
the leaf,” said Miriam, stretching forth her 
hand to Ruth ; and the two girls ran joyously 
through the corridors, down the great marble 
stairway, and on out into the garden with its 
fragrant shrubs and flowers. They visited the 
sun-dial, but it was still too early for the 
shadow to be cast, strolled through the beau- 
tiful walks, gathered the dew-laden flowers, 
and, finally, went to the arbor to rest awhile 
in its inviting shadows. At the entrance to 
the arbor, both girls stopped in amazement, for 
there, quietly seated near the table, they saw 
Jesus, with a happy smile of greeting for them 
upon his face. 

“ Teacher !” they cried simultaneously, throw- 
ing themselves upon their knees beside him and 
pressing his hands to their lips in loving rev- 
erence. 

“ Peace be unto you, dear maidens,” he said 
gently. Then seating himself beside them, he 
conversed of the many things their hearts were 
longing to know. Ayeah, who as usual watched 
near Miriam, hurried to her mistress and told 
her the welcome news that Jesus was talking 


46 


MARCUS AND MIRIAM. 


with the children in the garden, and soon both 
she and her husband Jairus hastened to wel- 
come him and do him honor. 

They constrained him to enter the palace 
and partake with them of the morning meal ; 
and the food that with uplifted hands he blessed 
was sweeter than any of which they had ever 
partaken before. As they sat at table, he un- 
folded to them the word of life and wrapped 
them about with his wonderful and exalted love. 

When at last he raised his hands above them 
in blessing and rose to depart, Jairus said 
fervently, “ Teacher, thou hast truly given to 
us the words of eternal life, and, from this 
time forth, I and my household will wmrship 
the Father at thy feet.” 

From that time, he often came to spend an 
hour in their midst, and sometimes rested for 
a night beneath their roof ; and the entire 
atmosphere of the palace became one of un- 
mixed joy and peace. 

0 

CHAPTER XII. 

So love in our hearts shall grow mighty and 
strong. 

Through crosses, through sorrows, through mani- 
fold wrong. 

— H. W. Longfellow. 

S O WONDERFUL was the change wrought 
in Miriam, both physically and spiritually, 
that her life began to unfold like the 
flower-buds — too long deprived of the sun — 
when brought into its life-giving light. From 
being a delicate, oversensitive child, in a few 
months she had developed into a strong, healthy, 
active young w’oman, full of life and energy, 
and endowed with rare intellectual and spiritual 
graces. Not only had her wonderful healing 
brought about this change from the first, but 
the constant intercourse with Jesus, as he 
came and went in her father’s household, kept 
her spirit fed with that life-giving food that 
alone can make us both physically and spirit- 
ually whole. One interview with the blessed 
Christ, however satisfying it may be at the 
time, is not enough to make us grow into the 
strong, beautiful characters it is his wish w’e 
should become ; but we must drink daily from 
the fountain of life, a draught that can be taken 
only from his hands. 


As the months passed and the great change 
in Miriam’s life became apparent to all, Marcus 
pleaded that their long betrothal might now 
terminate in marriage; and to this both Jairus 
and his wife gave ready consent, for Marcus 
was already as a son to them, and they w^ere 
quite ready to trust their darling to his care, 
especially so since it would not remove her 
from their household. So it came to pass that, 
before the year had closed, she became the wife 
of Marcus. And Jesus was at the wedding 
feast, and, before he left, he laid his hands 
in blessing upon the heads of the young couple 
whose lives were henceforth to be as one, and 
spoke to them words of tender counsel and 
advice. 

So the tw’o happy young lives rounded out 
in symmetry and beauty ; their intercourse 
with Jesus, the example of his beautiful life 
and the purity and exalted character of his 
teaching lifted them on to a higher plane of 
existence than they had ever reached before. 
They became his most earnest and devoted fol- 
lowers, and no pleasure was so great «4o them 
as to frequent the synagogue where he regularly 
taught w’hen in Capernaum. One day, a short 
time after their marriage, Marcus came home 
with a troubled look upon his face, unusual to 
him. 

“ What is it, Marcus?” said Miriam, always 
quick to notice any change in his demeanor, 
as he threw himself into a seat beside her. 
‘‘ What troubles thee, my Marcus?” 

“ How quick thou art, Miriam, to see any 
shadow on my face !” said Marcus, tenderly. 

“ How could it be otherwise,” asked she, 
“ W'hen thou art now my greatest study? Thy 
face is now my book ; in it I read all that I 
seek to know,” she answered brightly. “ But 
tell me now, in truth, what troubles thee.” 

“ Yes, I will tell thee, Miriam, for thy heart 
is as devoted to the Nazareue as my own.” 

‘‘ Has evil then befallen Jesus?” asked Mi- 
riam, with startled eyes. 

“ No actual evil yet, though I fear it threat- 
ens him. I saw Aurelius — he whom I met some 
time ago with Antonius at the bath — in the 
synagogue this morning as Jesus taught. With 
him were three other men, with sinister faces 
and evil eyes. They kept their heads together 
and whispered and watched Jesus, and sneered 
covertly at all that he said. When they left the 
synagogue, I learned that they sought the other 


MARCUS AND MIRIAM. 


47 


rulers ; thy father they did not undertake to 
see again, for his position toward Jesus is well 
known. They are spies, I doubt not, sent 
hither from Jerusalem to trap him into saying 
something they can use against him.” 

“ But, Marcus, all he saith is so pure and 
good. Why should they want to misrepresent 
him? They cannot injure him; he hath done 
so much good, the people would all rise up and 
defend him.” 

“ The people are not always grateful, Miriam. 
Dost thou remember, when last year we all went 
to Jerusalem with thy honored father and 
mother to visit my father, how thy tender 
heart ached for that wretched cripple who 
seemed always to be watching for the ‘ trou- 
bling of the water ’ in the great pool by the 
sheep-gate?” 

“ The one that told us that for thirty-eight 
years he had been so crippled by paralysis that 
he was unable to move at all without assist- 
ance?” 

“ The same. Well, Jesus pne day noticed his 
wretchedness, and his compassionate heart was 
touched by the dreadful infirmity of the man, 
and he said to him, ‘ Wouldest thou be made 
wfiole?’ Then it seems the man told him 
how long he had been ill, and how he was daily 
brought to the Pool of Bethesda to seek healing 
in its waters, but, being helpless, was unable 
to get into the water, as he had no man near 
to help him. Then Jesus said to him, ‘ Arise, 
take up thy bed, and walk !’ And taking him 
by the hand, he lifted him to his feet, which 
immediately received strength ; and he, taking 
up his bed, started homeward to tell the glad 
news to others. Jesus, in the meantime, dis- 
appeared in the crowd always collected about 
the pool ; and the crippled man, never having 
seen Jesus until that day, knew not who had 
healed him. This had all happened upon the 
Sabbath day, and thou knowest it is forbidden 
in the letter of the law for anyone to bear a 
burden upon that day ; but in this case it 
surely was admissible that the man should carry 
his bed to his home, as it probably was the 
only one he had, and he could not afford to 
lose it by leaving it beside the pool. It does 
not seem to me that his act could be construed 
into a breach of the law, as it was not burden- 
bearing in the common acceptation of the term. 
But some of the caviling Jews thought other- 
wise, and taxed him with breaking the law. 


“ ‘ I do not wish to break the law,’ he an- 
swered them, ‘ but he who made me whole bade 
me take up my bed and walk.’ 

“‘And who was he?’ they questioned. 

“ ‘ I know not,’ he said. ‘ I only know that, 
paralyzed for thirty-eight years, he healed me 
by his touch ; but who he was I know not.’ 

“ ‘ He has caused thee to violate the law,’ 
they said threateningly ; for they knew that no 
one but Jesus could have done this miracle, and 
they wanted to gather proof against him. A 
few days later Jesus again met the man, 
restored and well, in the temple. Jesus must 
have known that he had used this new God- 
given strength in a sinful manner, for he spoke 
a word of warning to him : 

“ ‘ Thou hast been made whole ; sin no more, 
lest a worse thing come upon thee.’ Then the 
man knew it was Jesus that had healed him. 
What did he do? Fall down and worship him? 
Nay! He went and told the Jews that it was 
Jesus who healed him! To free himself from 
the charge of breaking the law, he accused this 
man — who had given back to him life and 
strength — of the sin of enticing him to do wrong. 
What think you of such gratitude?” 

A bright red spot burned in each of Miriam’s 
cheeks, and she said hotly : 

“ May he be overtaken in his sin and pay 
its heaviest penalty! How could he be so base? 
How could he fail to recognize the Christ?” 

“ All do not see with thy clear vision, my 
Miriam. This poor man was evidently all ‘ of 
the earth, earthy.’ He had no inner vision of 
the spiritual beauty of Jesus, as you have, my 
wife. He was healed, and, that being the sum, 
the acme of his desires, he had no care for any- 
thing else. It mattered nothing to him who 
suffered because of his supposed sin, so he him- 
self escaped unpunished.” 

“ I cannot understand how anyone could feel 
thus. I knew that I was healed, when Jesus 
gave me back my life — I felt it in every fiber 
of my being — but, over and above the gratitude 
the gift engendered, there sprang into life, in 
the very depths of my heart, a love which I 
had never known before. It took possession of 
me, it filled my life. I cannot describe it to 
thee, Marcus, but it was as deep as the ocean 
and as high as heaven itself. The healing, 
though I was conscious of it, was secondary 
to me. I could only think of him. He filled 
every want of my life, and so engrossed my 


48 


MARCUS AND MIRIAM. 


thoughts, especially for the first hours, that 
I wanted to be silent, that I might think of 
him.” 

“ I remember how silent and absorbed thou 
wast — for hours after Jesus left — that memor- 
able day,” said Marcus, tenderly stroking the 
hand he held. 

“ I could not talk, he so filled my heart. 
Canst thou understand it, Marcus?” she asked, 
a little wistfully. 

“ I do understand it most thoroughly, my 
wife,” he answered. “ I love him with a love 
scarcely less than thine own. He is seldom 
absent from my thoughts. Nothing human 
could call forth such depth and tenderness of 
feeling. His restoring thee to life and giving 
thee back to us when we thought we had lost 
thee here forever, would naturally call for our 
deepest love and gratitude ; but, Miriam, my 
precious wife, I loved him long before he had 
laid this claim upon us,” said Marcus, with 
deep feeling. A silence fell upon them that 
seemed almost holy, and each seemed absorbed 
in happy thought. “ If,” Marcus at length re- 
sumed, ‘‘ he were but a mortal man, we would 
say it was the result of his exalted character. 
We would speak of his unselfish life, so given 
to thought for others ; of his filial love, of his 
loj’alty to his friends, of his tenderness for 
little children and his reverence for the aged, 
of his purity in every thought, word and act 
of his life ; for these all go to make up a char- 
acter beyond compare. But it is something 
beyond this that calls forth from us the depth 
of tenderness and reverence and love : that 
compels us, were it necessary, even to lay down 
our lives for his sake.” 

“ Oh, Marcus !” said Miriam, almost tearfully, 
“ and that makes us love each other better, 
because of our great love for him !” 

“ Yes,” said Marcus, ‘‘ that makes us par- 
takers of the divinity within himself, and,” — 
after a moment’s pause — “ that compels me 
now to leave the company dearer to me than 
any on earth, that if possible, I may warn him 
of the danger I fear threatens him, and seek 
to aid him in escaping it.” 

“ Oh, go at once !” said Miriam, eagerly, 
“ and, if possible, induce him to return hither 
with thee. Tell him the guest chamber, now 
peculiarly his own, is always ready for him, 
and that we wait with eager hearts his com- 
ing.” 


CHAPTER XIII. 

I know for me the thread of life is slender. 
And soon with me the labor will be wrought ; 
Then grows my heart to other hearts more 
tender. 

The time is short. 

— Dinah Craik. 

T he day was closing, and the cool breezes 
of the evening were ruffling the blue 
waters of the sea, before Marcus — for 
whom Miriam had anxiously watched for hours 
— returned ; and with him came Jesus. A great 
peace fell upon Miriam’s heart when she heard 
their steps in the corridor and knew that Jesus 
had accompanied her husband on his return, 
and would spend the night beneath their roof. 

A great anxiety had taken hold of her, since 
her talk with her husband earlier in the day, 
about Jesus. She felt that a great danger 
menaced him, and her heart rebelled at the 
thought that one so pure and good in every 
way should be persecuted thus by evil men. 
The fact that it was the priests who insstigated 
this persecution only made her the more re- 
bellious, since she felt that they, of all men, 
should sustain and befriend him. Now that 
she knew he was safely beneath their roof, and 
that she would soon see the face she so loved, 
and listen to the voice that sent new life to her 
heart, she was content and glad, and waited 
patiently till he should come to her. Marcus 
had taken him direct to the guest chamber, 
where a slave awaited to administer the re- 
freshing bath and anoint the weary feet. 
When, refreshed and invigorated, he came with 
her husband into the room, her heart was so 
full of joy at beholding him, she could only 
advance to meet him with outstretched hands, 
saying gently : 

“ I am so glad to see thee again. A thou- 
sand welcomes to our home.” 

But her radiant face and tender eyes told of 
the royal welcome her heart accorded him, and 
his voice was more than usually gentle as he 
answered : 

“It is always a joy to me to form one of 
thy household, my daughter, whenever it is 
permitted me to do so.” And he held her 
outstretched hands closely in his own. 

Jairus and his wife entered the room at this 
moment and also gave him a hearty welcome. 
Soon thereafter the evening repast was served. 


MARCUS AND MIRIAM. 


49 


and afterward they all ascended to the housetop 
and sat beneath the stars. 

Who can tell of the blessedness of those 
hours when they crowded close about him and 
listened to the words from his sacred lips? The 
soft starlight fell about them, and in the gar- 
den beneath a nightingale sang softly, as 
though it would not disturb the sacredness of 
the hour. Before ascending to the roof, Jairus, 
at the wish of Jesus, had assembled all the 
servants together in the outer court, and Jesus 
had talked a little with them in simple, loving 
language, and blessed them all, for he had ever 
a message for the lowliest. And now he sat 
with the household alone, in the sacredness of 
the night hour upon the housetop, overlooking 
the Sea of Galilee, and the beauty of the stars 
above them was reflected in the tranquil waters 
of the sea beneath them. Miriam sat close at 
his left hand, Marcus was upon his right, while 
Jairus and his wife sat facing him ; and Ruth, 
whom Miriam had thoughtfully called, crouched 
at his feet, the unspoken rapture of her heart 
shining through her face. Joseph, too, sat a 
little apart from Marcus, but near enough to 
hear all that was said. His face, too, showed 
how sincere the love and homage of his heart 
for Jesus. 

Jesus talked to them of his Father’s 
wondrous love and mercy, of the life beyond, 
to which that of earth is but the prelude, of 
the “ house of many mansions,” and the glories 
and happiness of the eternal city. Their 
hearts grew more and more tender as he talked 
with them, and turned to him with a deeper 
love than ever before. He told them of the 
long journey he was soon to take, going from 
city to city to proclaim the gospel of the Son 
of God, reaching at last Jerusalem, where his 
ministry was to end. They well understood 
that he spoke of his life as well as his work 
being ended there, and their hearts were filled 
with sorrow. Few words were spoken for 
hours by anyone but Jesus, though now and 
then a question would be asked. Once, Miriam, 
slipping her fingers within his own, whispered 
brokenly, “ Why this long absence, my teacher? 
How can we do without thy teaching and thy 
love? May we not hope that thou will soon 
return to us?” 

His fingers closely pressed her own as he 
answered : 

“ What I have already taught thee, thou wilt 


not forget, and my love will abide with thee for- 
ever. I shall probably return hither for a few 
hours before going up to Jerusalem, but not 
for many days — the time is short. But I shall 
see thee in Jerusalem, in thy father’s house,” 
he said, turning to Marcus. “ He, together 
with Nicodemus and many others, has long 
served me in secret. Open espousal of my cause 
would only expose them to persecution and pre- 
vent their doing for me the many kind services 
it is their evident delight to do.” 

“ I know,” said Marcus, sadly. “ The last 
time I saw my honored father he said to me 
very earnestly, ‘John Mark (my baptismal 
name, and the one by which my father always 
calls me), if it be necessary, die to save that 
good man from the hatred of these evil men, 
who would even sacrifice his life for their wicked 
purposes.’ ” 

“ It would do no good, my son,” said Jesus, 
‘‘ though from my heart I thank thee. Only 
my life will satisfy them. John Mark is a 
good name. By it thou shall be called, and by 
it known through countless generations.” 

‘‘ But why,” Jairus said earnestly, “ why go 
to Jerusalem at all? Why subject thyself to the 
power of these evil men? In that city their 
power is unbounded. Why not remain with 
those who love and trust thee, knowing thee 
as thou art — the Son of God?” 

“ My Father wills it otherwise. It is expe- 
dient for you that I go away, but my peace 
will remain with you forever. These men who 
seek my life do not believe that I am sent 
forth from the Father, but if I be lifted up, 
I shall draw all men unto me, and through 
me to the Father.” 

These words were sorrowfully spoken, and, 
each heart felt, foretold not only his death, 
but the manner of his death. Every heart was 
filled with sorrow. Ruth laid her face upon 
the sandaled feet of the teacher she so loved 
and bathed them with her tears. Miriam leaned 
her head against his arm, and her mother’s 
face was wet with tears. A solemn silence was 
over all. Jairus and Marcus each sat with 
stern, sad faces, and Joseph hid his bowed 
face in his hands, to conceal his not unmanly 
tears. 

Then Jesus, visibly moved by their great love 
for him, again spoke, and his voice was full 
of a strange, deep tenderness. He passed his 
arm about Miriam’s trembling form and drew 


50 


MARCUS AND MIRIAM, 


her more closely to his side, and placed his 
right hand caressingly upon the bowed head of 
Ruth, as he said : 

“ ‘ Let not your hearts be troubled.’ Ye all 
believe and trust in the Father’s boundless 
love and mercy ; believe also the words I speak 
unto you, when I say that all he wills that 
I should do and suffer, I gladly — nay, joyfully — 
do and bear, that his name may be glorified 
before the world. It was for this that I came 
into the world : shall I not fulfill the will of 
him who sent me? Were I to ask, he would 
send legions of angels to deliver me ; but then 
would the purpose for which I came be unful- 
filled. Be strong, beloved friends, and by your 
courage and love assist me to meet the trial 
awaiting me.” 

Then he, too, bow'ed his head and sat in 
silent thought. Peter quietly joined the group 
at this time, and was silently recognized by 
Jesus and Jairus with a kindly glance. He sat 
down near Marcus, of whom he was very fond, 
and w’hom he also called John Mark, having 
known him from his childhood. It was Peter 
who had first spoken to him of the wonderful 
prophet of Nazareth, and had led him to be- 
lieve on him as the Son of the Most High. 
Hence the bond between the two had become 
very marked and strong, and many believe that 
it was through Peter’s influence that the “ Gos- 
pel of Mark ” was afterward written by Marcus 
— or John Mark — wherein the life, suffering and 
death of the Savior of mankind are so vividly 
and faithfully portrayed. 

Long they sat in silent, thoughtful commun- 
ion. Then Jesus, rising, said : 

“ Let us sing our morning hymn before we 
part.” And, Jesus leading with a voice attuned 
like a heavenly harp, they sang together the 
sublime words of King David : 

‘‘ Praise ye the Lord. 

Praise ye the Lord from the heavens ; 

Praise him in the heights. 

Praise ye him, all his angels ; 

Praise ye him, all his hosts ! 

Praise ye him, sun and moon ; 

Praise him, all ye stars of light. 

Praise him, ye heaven of heavens. 

And ye waters that be above the heavens. 

Kings of the earth, and all people; 

Princes and all judges of the earth ; 

Both young men and maidens ; 

Old men and children ; 

Let them praise the name of the Lord ; 


For his name alone is excellent : 

His glory is above the earth and heaven. 

Let every thing that hath breath praise the 
Lord. 

Praise ye the Lord.” 

The song ceased, and, raising his hands above 
them, he breathed a short prayer, full of ten- 
derness and pathos, petitioning the Father ta 
keep these, so beloved by him, from all evil, 
and preserve them blameless in his sight. He 
prayed that they might be led by the Holy 
Spirit in the way of all truth, and that the 
Comforter might take up his abode with them, 
and more than fill the vacancy, more than 
soothe the pain their coming separation from 
him would produce. Then he blessed them fer- 
vently, and descended to the room provided for 
him. Marcus accompanied him to the door of 
his chamber, then he and all the others retired 
to their respective rooms for a few hours’ rest. 
The stars were paling in the heavens, and the 
first gray shadows of the dawm were stealing 
over the hilltops. They had watched through 
the night together, and the memory of that mar- 
velous vigil would remain in every heart forever. 

Miriam lay down upon her couch, but she 
could not rest. The events of the night had 
taken such hold of her sensitive mind, that they 
drove sleep from her pillow. At length she 
arose, and, throwing a heavy robe about her 
to protect her from the chill air, she once 
again ascended to the roof. The fleecy clouds 
that lay banked up in the east, when she had 
descended to her room, were now a mass of 
purple and rose, with golden rays shooting 
athwart them, and their ragged edges tipped 
with burnished gold. She heard a step, and, 
turning, saw her husband close beside her. She 
gave him a look of grateful welcome and slipped 
her hand into his own as he approached her, 
but no word was spoken by either ; in silence 
they looked upon the grandeur of the scene. 
Mt. Hermon, in the far distance to the north, 
wore a crown of light upon his snow-capped 
head ; the Mount of the Beatitudes, only a few 
miles away toward the southwest, blushed with 
pleasure, as the sunlight chased the shadows 
down its rugged sides. The Sea of Galilee 
was like a lake of fire in its rosy glory, that 
gradually changed into a sea of molten gold as 
the wavelets, gold-tipped, chased each other in 
rapid succession across its breast. Marcus and 
Miriam stood entranced by the beautiful sight. 



t w 




It stood a gigantic cross of silver. 




51 




MARCUS AND MIRIAM. 


53 


Suddenly, as they looked, out of its golden 
depths in the center of the lake, a pillar of 
silver light slowly arose, mounting upward, up- 
ward to the height of perhaps one hundred feet. 
At first they thought it the vapor that so often 
rested on the lake at dawn, but the breeze that 
drifted across its bosom did not disturb it, or 
cause it even to vacillate. Then, from either 
side of the column, an arm reached out, and 
now it stood a gigantic cross of silver rising 
from its base of gold. A moment it stood im- 
movable, then, slowly parting from its founda- 
tion, it rose upward until it w^as distinctly out- 
lined against the clouds of purple and rose, 
when it gradually faded away and was lost 
amid the broken, floating clouds. Each young 
heart drew a heavy breath, when, as they looked 
downward, Marcus and Miriam saw Jesus 
standing upon the shore, looking over the sea. 
He had gone out in the early dawn, as was his 
usual custom, to w^alk beside the waters he 
so loved. Turning and looking upward he saw 
the two standing upon the roof, and, with a 
gentle smile, waved his hand to them, and, 
wmlking swiftly onward, was soon lost to view. 
Had he, too, seen the cross? 

o 

CHAPTER XIV. 

O Master, it is good to be 
Entranced, enwrapt, alone with Thee; 

And watch Thy glistening raiment glow 
Whiter than Herman’s whitest snow ; 

The human lineaments that shine 
Irradiant with a light divine ; 

Till we, too, change from grace to grace, 
Gazing on that transfigured face. 

— Arthur P. Stanley. 

T he night after the events narrated in 
the preceding chapter, Marcus was sleep- 
less and restless, and, rising in the early 
dawn, he stole out of the house and turned his 
steps toward the sea, if perchance its peaceful 
waters might soothe his unrest. He found the 
shore deserted, for even the fishermen had not 
yet returned from their toil of the night; and, 
with absorbed thought, he strolled on, heedless 
of his steps. Looking up suddenly, he saw 
just before him Jesus standing close upon the 
shore, looking out over the placid waters. The 
heart of Marcus gave a throb of joy as be 


beheld the man of whom his thoughts were 
full, but he stopped irresolute, shrinking from 
intruding upon his privacy. Jesus stood in 
silent meditation, looking wdth earnest and far- 
reaching gaze out over the placid waters of the 
sea, just blushing into roseate beauty beneath 
the first kisses of the morning sun. 

The majesty of his mien, the beauty of his 
face and form, the divine light that to Marcus 
seemed to radiate from his entire being, spoke 
to him of the divine nature of the man before 
him, and he longed to throw himself at his 
feet and worship and adore. “ I am always 
reminded when I look at him,” so the thoughts 
of Marcus ran, “ of the words of the prophet : 

‘ Let thy garments be always white,’ for his 
are spotless, at all times and in all places.” 
Before he could withdraw silently, as he had 
contemplated doing, Jesus turned, and, with an 
ineffable smile of welcome, held out his hand 
to him and drew the young man to his side. 

“ Thou, too, art seeking rest,” he said gently ; 
“ surely it is in the scene before us,” turning 
his face again toward the sea. A moment of 
silent thought, then Jesus said, “ Shall we walk 
a little farther?” 

‘‘ Gladly,” Marcus answ’ered. They walked 
along the shore, and the tiny waves sparkled 
and broke at their very feet. Then Jesus, turn- 
ing, said : 

“ I am glad for this hour alone with thee, 
John Mark. There is much that I would say 
to thee, and the time for intercourse is short.” 

“ Teacher, say on,” said Marcus. “ I am 
only too glad to hear aught from thy lips.” 

“ There are three of my disciples I would 
have thee know w’ell : Simon Peter and the 
brothers James and John, sons of Zebedee and 
Salome. They will be strength and comfort to 
thee in the days to come. Simon Peter, I am 
glad to see, thou dost already appreciate and 
love. He is cut from the rough granite, but 
is genuine. He is loyalty itself, but at times 
his impetuosity leads him to say or do that for 
which he is severely censured, and for which 
he repents in bitterness of spirit. And, Mark,” 
said Jesus, looking into his eyes with beseech- 
ing tenderness, “ if, in the near future, thou 
shalt hear of any such act upon his part in 
which I, too, am involved, because of thy love 
for me be gentle and uncensorious toward him. 
He will suffer enough from self-reproach; do 
not add to his heavy burden. He is a grand 


54 


MARCUS AND MIRIAM. 


man, with sinews of oak and the heart of a 
dove. 

“ James is full of faith and zeal beyond any 
other one of my disciples, but he is modest and 
reticent until you know him well, when he be- 
comes an anchor of strength in trouble. He 
shall taste the bitterness of the cup I drink, 
before any among you, but in so doing shall 
glorify my Father’s name. 

“ What shall I say of John — so loyal, so pure, 
so gentle? He has all the grandeur of a man, 
with the simplicity and purity of a child. I 
never see him,” — and the eyes of Jesus grew 
inexpressibly tender — “ but that I want to 
open my arms and fold him against my heart. 
Thou canst but love him, and he will comfort 
thee in thy need.” 

“ I will remember all thou sayest,” said Mar- 
cus, when Jesus finished speaking. “ Why may I 
not accompany thee upon the journey of which 
thou didst speak, and so find opportunity for 
doing as thou hast said?” 

“ Nay,” said Jesus, ” thy present duty is to 
thy dear young wife and thine uncle Jairus. 
But in Jerusalem we shall meet again, and in 
the time to come thou shalt testify of me before 
the world.” So saying, with a kindly smile he 
left him, and Marcus, turning, slowly retraced 
his steps. 

All day long, while about his daily duties, 
the words of Jesus rang in the ears of Marcus 
and echoed in his heart. There was much he 
said that Marcus could not clearly understand. 
There was a hidden something underlying the 
spoken words that he fain would have made 
clear. What was the trouble to which he now 
so constantly alluded, as though to prepare 
them for some coming sorrow. He plainly spoke 
of his death being near. Did he really fore- 
tell it? Was there a foreshadowing of grand 
suffering in that death, from which the human 
part of his nature shrank? Could Peter ex- 
plain these mysteries to him? Could John? 

The evening of this same eventful day, as 
Marcus left the synagogue, he saw a man stand- 
ing just outside the gates, as though awaiting 
the coming of someone, and a second look 
showed him that it was John, whom the Christ 
so loved. Approaching him eagerly with ex- 
tended hand, Marcus said : 

“ I rejoice to meet thee thus ; there is much 
that I would ask of thee. It draweth near the 
hour for the evening meal. I beg that thou 


wilt accompany me home and be my guest for 
the night.” 

“ Most gladly,” said John, showing evident 
pleasure at the request. ‘‘ Our beloved teacher 
has so often spoken of thy worth, we long to 
know thee better, and I gladly embrace this 
opportunity for so doing.” 

As the two young men walked on together, 
in earnest, confidential conversation, their hearts 
were knit together as never before, and Marcus 
realized how' Jesus could feel for John such 
tender and deep love. On reaching the palace, 
John was taken at once to a guest chamber, 
and every attention shown him that hospitality 
could demand. When, after the evening meal, 
as usual, they all ascended to the roof, the 
two young men drew apart from the others 
and conversed long and earnestly together. 
John told him much of Jesus’ early history 
that was heretofore unknown to Marcus, and 
dwelt upon his w’onderful power and his great 
sympathy and love for all mankind, that marked 
him as divine. Marcus told him of his anxiety 
lest evil was meditated against Jesus by the 
Council at Jerusalem, and John confirmed his 
worst fears and told him Jesus not only knew 
of their evil designs, but seemed almost to 
know that they would succeed, and finally com- 
pass his death ; yet nothing could induce him 
to abandon his work, nor delay his journey to 
Jerusalem. Both men sat for some moments 
in sad reverie, when John said : 

” It passes my comprehension how they can 
be so bigoted and so blind. The works that 
he has done so plainly show his divine power, 
that the man who denies it is either so hope- 
lessly ignorant that he cannot see, or so will- 
fully sinful that he will not.” Then John 
narrated to Marcus many of the wonderful 
miracles that Jesus had wrought, and Marcus 
questioned and listened in wonder and awe. 

‘‘ I think the healing of the maniac among 
the tombs the most wonderful of any I have 
witnessed,” said John. 

“ More wonderful than the raising of the son 
of the widow of Nain, or — of my young wife?” 
asked Marcus, with a tender light in his eyes, 
as he looked over to the group where his wife 
was sitting in earnest conversation with her 
father and mother, a little removed from Marcus 
and John. 

“ Yes,” said John, “ for in each of these cases 
he but recalled the spirit to the tenement of 


MARCUS AND MIRIAM. 


55 


clay that it had left ; truly a miraculous act, 
but nothing to the first casting out of a legion 
of evil spirits to make room for the spirit of 
one worse than dead.” 

“ Ilow was it?” asked Marcus. “ I think 
this is one of his miracles of which I have 
not heard. Tell me about it.” 

“It happened when we had gone with him 
to the country of the Gergesenes, just before 
the raising of your wife to life,” said John. 

Soon after we had landed upon the shore a 
man came rushing upon us from among the 
tombs, who was afflicted with the worst form 
of insanity ever known. For many years he 
had been beyond all human control, snapping 
asunder the chains with which they bound him 
as though they were silken threads, and often 
grievously wounding, if not actually killing, 
those who strove to control him. He tore all 
clothing from his body, gnashed with his teeth, 
and cut himself with the sharp stones of the 
crags over which he used to climb. His hair 
was long and matted like a lion’s mane, and 
his nails upon both feet and hands had grown 
into claws, like an eagle’s. His eyes were fierce 
and treacherous looking, and his white face and 
naked body were objects of terror to the entire 
country around. He came shrieking and leaping 
toward us, and, at his demoniac yells, the 
affrighted people whom he met fled in every 
direction. He made direct for Jesus, who 
stood immovable, with his eyes fastened upon 
the frantic man. To our great surprise, even 
before Jesus spoke to him, he cried aloud, 
\yhat have I to do with thee, thou Son of 
the most high God?’ then threw himself at the 
feet of Jesus to worship him. Jesus said, as 
though addressing someone within him, ‘ I com- 
mand thee to come out of him, thou unclean 
spirit.’ Then the demoniac cried out beseech- 
ingly, ‘ I implore thee, torment us not before 
our time.’ Jesus said to him, ‘ What is thy 
uame?’ And the man said, more calmly now, 
^ My name is Legion, for we are many ; and we 
implore thee, if we must depart, that thou 
send us not entirely away, but let us go and 
abide in that herd of swine,’ pointing to an im- 
mense herd feeding upon the hillside. Then 
occurred a strange thing. Jesus said, ‘I com- 
mand you to come out of the man at once, and 
never return to him ; and you may go to the 
swine if you will, for you are all alike unclean.’ 
Then the man fell upon the ground in violent 


convulsions, foaming at the mouth and tearing 
his long, unkempt hair from his head ; and 
almost immediately afterward a violent commo- 
tion was seen in the herd of swine, that rushed 
madly hither and thither, and finally plunged 
headlong over a steep precipice into the sea, 
and were drowned. While this excitement was 
going on, Jesus whispered to us to take the 
man away and bathe and clothe him. And 
we led him away, and, taking him to a secluded 
spot on the shore near by, gave him a cleansing 
bath, cutting away his matted locks and claw- 
like nails. And behold ! on again reaching the 
shore a strange man handed us a bundle of 
clothing, including everything needful, even to 
the sandals for his feet. Whence the clothing 
came, we know not, for the man who brought 
them to us disappeared into the crowd with 
never a spoken word. The restored man, in 
answer to our inquiries, told us his name was 
Amos, that he had been a herder of cattle, and 
that his home was a short distance only from 
one of the cities of the Decapolis. When the 
multitude came, they found Jesus talking to 
Amos, who had at once gone to him and sat at 
his feet, and listened intently to every word he 
uttered. The appearance of this demoniac, 

‘ clothed and in his right mind,’ sitting at the 
feet of Jesus, claimed more of the attention of 
the crowd, I fear, than even the words of 
Jesus himself. Indeed, so frightened had they 
become at the wonderful things they had wit- 
nessed, that they besought Jesus to depart from 
their coasts, and, at the conclusion of his dis- 
course, he reentered the ship and bade adieu to 
their inhospitable shores. Some day, perhaps, 
they will understand how great the blessing 
they refused to receive. Amos begged to be al- 
lowed to accompany us on our return and fol- 
low Jesus wheresoever he went. But the 
Master said to him kindly, ‘ Not so, Amos, my 
friend ; thy work is not with me. Go and tell 
thy friends what great things God hath done 
for thee, and publish everywhere the gospel of 
the Son of God.’ I saw the keen disappoint- 
ment Amos felt that he might not accompany 
Jesus, and my heart went out to him in great 
sympathy ; so, on the impulse of the moment, 
I said, ‘ Teacher, if it seemeth good to thee, 
I would gladly do with Amos for a brief while, 
and with him bear the glad tidings of the 
gospel of peace.’ Jesus turned upon me a look 
full of loving appreciation, as he said, ‘ Go with 


56 


MARCUS AND MIRIAM. 


him, beloved ; and the God of peace go with 
you both. I will await thee in Capernaum.’ 
Then, turning to Amos, he laid a hand lightly 
upon each shoulder, as he said, ‘ It is not al- 
ways those, my son, who are near me personally 
that do the most for me, but those who do 
my wull and the will of the Father, who sent 
me. God hath done a great thing for thee, and 
thou, by showing it forth, canst do more for me 
among those w’ho knew thee in thy former con- 
dition and who see thee now, than thou couldest 
ever do working with the many about me. It 
is a wonderful step from the darkness of 
demoniacism into the broad light of the gospel 
of peace : I send thee forth as the first mes- 
senger to tell of this truth to thy benighted 
brethren ; and my spirit will go with thee to 
counsel and sustain thee withersoever thou 
goest. Thou art my servant, trusted and be- 
loved from this time forth.’ Then he laid 
his hands in blessing upon the bowed head 
of the man before him, whose face shone with 
the light of a great trust, even as Jesus talked. 
We went away together, Amos and I, and, as 
w’e walked, he told me much of his early life. 
A great and holy joy seemed to possess him, 
and he was eager to begin his ministry for the 
God who had uplifted him. In answer to my 
inquiry as to when this great evil of his life 
befell him, he said with much feeling : 

“ ‘ I was always a passionate, headstrong boy 
even in childhood, and was never willing to be 
guided by those older and wiser than I. I 
could not bear to be thwarted in my desires, 
and, when my parents or teachers opposed my 
will, I w’’ould fly into violent outbursts of pas- 
sion that amounted almost to frenzy. As I grew 
older, and my wull grew stronger, these fits of 
frenzy became more frequent and continued 
longer, until in one of them I w’andered away, 
and, meeting with others of like condition, took 
up my abode in the tombs and lost all memory 
of time and place. I dimly recall, when pressed 
by hunger, now and then wandering back to my 
father’s house ; but their efforts to detain me 
always threw me into such paroxysms of rage 
that they finally came to barring all the doors 
and windows at my approach and hiding them- 
selves from me, often managing to slip a basket 
of provisions to me through some door or win- 
dow when I was not near. Once they drugged 
some wine placed in the basket, and, while I 
lay in a stupor, dressed me and bound me with 


chains, hoping to recall me once more to my- 
self. I remember this incident distinctly, be- 
cause my mother was sitting beside me when I 
recovered consciousness from the wine. I loved 
my mother, and she could sometimes calm me, 
and my first feeling was one of pleasure when 
I saw her. But when I found that I was not 
only dressed but bound with chains, I tried to 
strike her, and the look of horror that crossed 
her face, stamped the incident indelibly upon 
my memory. I wrenched the chains asunder 
as though they had been threads, tore my cloth- 
ing from my person in shreds, and tried my 
best to kill someone before I left the house ; 
indeed, I believe I did kill one of the servants, 
but this may be one of my hallucinations.’ ” 

Then, answering the desire of Marcus, John 
continued : 

“ I told him much of Jesus and his wonder- 
ful life, and before many hours we found our- 
selves approaching the city of Gadara. While it 
was still an hour’s walk distant^ Amos turned 
aside into an inclosure.* As we approached a 
humble but comfortable-appearing housq,pWe saw, 
through the open door, the family gathered for 
the evening meal. They saw our approach, and 
the aged father rose to greet us, and bade us 
kindly welcome to the simple evening repast. 
They looked upon us both as strangers. The 
mother, too, arose and beckoned us to conven- 
ient seats. She looked into the face of her son 
with no sign of recognition. I saw that the 
heart of Amos was swelling with suppressed 
emotion, and, as his mother stood for a moment 
near him, intent on hospitable duties, he bent 
over and whispered to her, ‘ My mother !’ A 
startled look swept over her face, as, glancing 
quickly upward, her mother-eye penetrated the 
disguise, and, with a sobbing cry, ‘ Amos, my 
son ! my son !’ she fell into his outstretched 
arms. 

“ Then ensued a scene such as I am wholly 
inadequate to describe. The family gathered 
about him in awe and wonder, and the old 
father, laying his trembling hand upon the arm 
of his son, peered with his failing eyes into his 
face, and falteringly said, ‘ Amos ! Amos ! Is 
it truly thou, my son?’ And Amos, bending 
over, kissed his father on either cheek and said, 
with returning courage: 

“ ‘ Aye, father, it is thy truant son returned ; 


♦Similar to a small farm in our country. 


MARCUS AND MIRIAM. 


57 


this time, I trust to comfort and bless thy de- 
clining years.’ 

But, Amos,’ said the still bewildered father, 

‘ how comes all this? What has wrought this 
wonderful change? Who has given back to us 
the son that we believed was lost to us for- 
ever?’ And the old man clung fondly to the 
arm of his son that still supported his w’eeping 
mother. 

God, through his promised Messiah, hath 
wrought in me this marvelous thing. He it is 
who banished the demons from me, who gave 
me back my right mind, and, best of all, my 
father, who hath shown to me the great light' 
of the gospel of peace and truth.’ 

“ The servants, who had been waiting upon 
their master at the evening meal, and had 
listened with wonder to these strange things, 
now hastened to all the neighboring houses, and 
one even ran as far as the city and spread 
the strange tidings — how Amos, the demoniac, 
had returned home, clothed and in his right 
mind ; and the neighbors came hastening from 
far and near to see and hear the truth of these 
strange tidings. Soon the house was filled, and 
excited faces looked in at the doorways and 
through the windows. The face of Amos grew 
bright with joy, that so soon the way had 
opened for his ministry ; and, turning toward 
them, he began : 

“ ‘ Friends and neighbors, ye who knew me of 
old, when evil spirits had dominion over me, 
and behold me now as I stand before you here 
to-day, a strange thing I declare unto you, 
and one w'ho stands beside me here will tell 
you still more marvelous things of which I 
have yet no knowledge, about Jesus of Nazareth, 
whom we believe to be the Messiah promised 
by the prophets of old.’ Then he went on and 
told of his wretched life in the tombs, of his 
bondage to the evil spirits to whom he was in 
subjection, of his seeing Jesus afar off that 
day, and the spirits within him crying out 
that he was the Son of God I Of his marvelous 
deliverance, and his being sent home by Jesus 
to tell to them the truths of his great gospel. 

“ ‘ I may well have told him,’ he said to them, 

‘ that my name was Legion, for a horde of 
evil spirits w’ere my constant guests. The 
demon of anger, the demon of hatred, the demon 
of selfishness, the demon of malice, the demon 
of self-love, the demon of self-will, the demon 
of deceit, the demon of untruth, the demon of 


destruction, and a host of others of like nature, 
were always with me. An uncontrolled tem- 
per, an ungoverned will, will make a demoniac 
of any living creature. I say to you, my friends, 
that there are others besides Amos in the city 
of Gadara who are possessed of evil spirits ! 
Who was it that raised his hand to slay his 
friend, because they differed on some trivial 
matter? Was it Nathan? Nay, it was the 
demon of anger that had found entrance to 
his heart. Who w’as it that robbed his brother 
of his inheritance, through some technicality 
of the law that enabled him to do so? Was 
it Timeus? Nay, but the evil spirits of avarice 
and selfishness that he harbored in his breast. 
Who fled from the home where she was encir- 
cled by purity and truth, and went with evil 
company and walked in strange ways? Was it 
Sara? or Judith? or Leah? Nay, but the 
demons of self-love, self-will and self-destruc- 
tion that enticed them, and they yielded to 
the siren voices. I know all this, alas ! too 
well, and I say unto you, beloved friends, there 
is only One upon earth whom these evil spirits 
fear, and that is Jesus of Nazareth. There 
is only ~ one voice that they will obey: it is 
the voice of Jesus, who is the Christ, the 
Messiah, whom the prophets of old foretold. 
Before him “ even devils fear and tremble,” 
and all that is evil flees in affright. Call upon 
him to help you, and he will exorcise all of 
them from your hearts, and send, to fill their 
places, joy and peace and rest, such as my 
tongue can never make you understand. It was 
he who tore the black cloud from my life and 
permits me to look upon him in his beauty. 
It is he who sends me back, purified — vile crea- 
ture that I was — to the beloved inmates of my 
long deserted home, and gives to my parents’ 
arms the son they mourned as dead. Will you 
not also believe in him?’ 

“ He spoke like one inspired, and the people 
hung upon his words, and many wept aloud 
and fell upon their faces and cried to God to 
send Jesus of Nazareth to deliver them from 
the bondage of the Evil One, that now they 
felt, for the first time, enslaved them. 

“ Then Amos turned to me and asked me to 
tell them the things I knew of Jesus. I spoke 
to them for more than an hour, and answered 
many questions asked ; and many, that first 
night, believed that he was the Messiah. The 
father and mother of Amos — nay, more, all of 


58 


MARCUS AND MIRIAM. 


his household — believed and rejoiced, and the 
evening meal was forgotten and the evening 
tasks were left undone, and much of the night 
was spent in thanksgiving and praise. And so 
began the work in the benighted country of the 
Gadarenes. I remained with him several days, 
laboring with him in all the Decapolis and the 
region round about, and then returned hither 
to the disciples.”* 

“ Was it not upon this voyage,” questioned 
Marcus, “that Jesus stilled the tempest? Were 
you in the boat at the time?” 

“ Yes,” said John, “ it was while we were 
crossing the lake on the way to Gadara that 
the scene occurred, and I, with the other dis- 
ciples, was with him in the boat. It was a won- 
derful scene — one never to be forgotten. Jesus 
was very weary. The constant pressure of the 
multitude about him both day and night, and 
the continuous teaching, had exhausted him, 
and, after entering the boat, he lay down 
upon a cushion in the stern and was soon 
asleep. When we were about half way across 
the lake, a sudden squall struck the boat, and 
in an instant all was confusion. The waves 
tossed it about like a dry leaf in the wind, and 
we all, greatly affrighted, clung to the mast 
or the gunwales for safety. But Jesus slept 
on as though in bed in his own house. We 
hesitated to -disturb his peaceful sleep, but 
suddenly a wave, that seemed to us like a 
mountain, bore down upon us, flooding the front 
of the boat with water and sweeping overboard 
loose articles. Greatly affrighted, we cried out, 
‘ Lord, save us ! We perish !’ And Simon Peter, 
I think it was, rushed at the peril of his life 
to where the Teacher still slept, and rousing 
him, cried : ‘ Carest thou not that we all perish?’ 
Then Jesus, his eyes still heavy with sleep, 
sat up, and, looking out over the foaming 
billows, seemed for the first time aware of the 
storm ; and, turning his eyes calmly upon us, 
said sadly, ‘Where is your faith?’ Then he 
arose, and standing without support in the 
stern, looked upon the tempest that tossed his 
bright hair about his face and seemed trying 
to tear his white robe from his person. One 


•Upon Jesus’ return to this region, after visiting 
Tyre and Sidon, “ There came unto him great multi- 
tudes, having with them the lame, blind, dumb, maimed 
and many others; . . and he healed them.” Compare 
Matt. 15: 28-31 with Mark 7: 30-37. This was very 
probably due to the message of the healed demoniac. — 
(R. W. S. 


moment he stood thus, in his majesty, then 
slowly raising his hand with a gesture of com- 
mand, he said, in a tone of authority, ‘ Peace ! 
Be still !’ And the mad waves receded one upon 
the other, until the sea about us was as tranquil 
as you see it to-night,” pointing as he spoke 
to the almost motionless waters of the moonlit 
sea before them. “ We could see in the distance 
the water still foaming and dashing angrily 
about, but even that grew calm as he stood 
watching it ; and soon a great calm lay upon 
the entire bosom of the sea. Turning to us 
then, Jesus said gently, ‘ Had your faith in the 
Father’s power been strong enough, ye would 
only have had to ask him, in my name, to still 
the tempest, and it would have fled before you. 
Oh, ye of little faith !’* Then he again lay 
down upon his hard bed and slept peacefully. 
The men gathered in knots, and in low tones 
discussed the strange event and whispered 
among themselves, while stealing furtive glances 
at Jesus, and asked in awe, ‘ What manner of 
man is this, that even the winds and the sea 
obey him?’ I stole over and sat dowj^ close 
beside Jesus, and yielding to an irresistible 
impulse, bent down and pressed my lips on his 
unsandaled feet. The action roused him, and, 
looking at me tenderly, he whispered, ‘ Beloved,’ 
and lapsed into sleep again, with a divine smile 
playing about his lips. 

“ We had been so thrown from our course 
by the storm, and were all so weary and ex- 
hausted that we, too, slept, letting the boat 
drift, so that it was dawn before we reached 
our destination.” 

Long into the night talked these two devoted 
men, and their souls, like those of Jonathan 
and David, were closely knit together. The 
household had long retired before they parted, 
and beneath the stars they pledged fidelity to 
each other and loyalty to Him whom it was their 
privilege to honor and to serve. Two mornings 
thereafter, Jesus, with his disciples, started 
upon their missionary journey that was to end 
at Jerusalem in time for the Feast of the Pass- 
over, still some six months distant. 


♦Compare John 14 : 16. 



MARCUS AND MIRIAM. 


59 


CHAPTER XV. 

To live in hearts we leave behind 
Is not to die. 

— Thomas Campbell. 

There is no death ! What seems so is transition : 

This life of mortal breath 
Is but a suburb of the life elysian, 

Whose portal we call death. 

— Longfellow. 

A fter Jesus and Marcus parted upon the 
seashore, in the early dawn, Jesus con- 
tinued his way along the beach until he 
reached the outskirts of Magdala, when he left 
the lake ; and, passing up the picturesque valley 
and through the gorge to the southwest, struck 
across the rolling hills in the direction of Naz- 
areth. 

He had no desire to publicly visit the place, 
since he had been openly rejected there, but 
he felt that he could not start upon his pro- 
jected journey, which he well knew would end 
so tragically for him, without first seeing his 
mother and leaving with her thoughts that 
would afterward bring comfort to her heart. 

When Jesus left Nazareth in the beginning 
of his ministry and made his home in Caper- 
naum, his mother and brethren followed him 
thither ; but Mary could not give up wholly the 
house at Nazareth, with its hallowed associa- 
tions, so that part of her time was spent there 
in retirement; and there Jesus sought her as 
often as his duties would permit him to do so. At 
this time he avoided the highways, keeping to 
the fields for the most part, and reading in 
everything beautiful in nature the marks of 
his Father’s love for his earthly children. The 
birds sang anthems of praise, and Jesus sang 
with them ; the little mountain streams sparkled 
and danced and murmured joyously, and Jesus 
slaked his thirst in their sweet waters and let 
them ripple over his tired feet until he felt 
refreshed. The flowers bloomed everywhere, 
especially the lilies; and Jesus stooped and 
gathered them as he walked along, inhaling 
their fragrance and often pressing them to his 
face. By the time he had reached the out- 
skirts of Nazareth and turned aside to his 
mother’s modest home, he held a large cluster 
of flowers in his hand ; and now, when almost 
at the threshold, he paused to examine anew 
an unusually large and perfect lily — the latest 
he had plucked. His mother, hearing and rec- 


ognizing his step, came eagerly to the door to 
welcome him, and Jesus, looking up with a 
smile — holding the flowers toward her — said, 
as on another occasion, “ Behold the lilies, 
how they grow ! They toil not, they spin not ; 
yet Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed 
like one of these !” He placed the flowers in 
her hand, and, bending over, pressed his lips 
to her forehead, and then, with his arm caress- 
ingly around her, they entered the house to- 
gether. 

“ It is long since I have seen thy face, my 
son,” said Mary, looking up vvistfully into the 
kind eyes above her. 

“ Yes, my mother, it is long. But thou know- 
est how urgent the business I have to do, and 
how I must w'ork while the daylight lasts. No 
man knoweth when the night may come, and 
I would not have it find me with my work 
incomplete.”* 

They had seated themselves side by side, and 
Jesus still kept his arm protectingly around 
her, as she rested her head upon his shoulder. 
How in his tender heart he yearned to shield 
her from the deep sorrow that lay before her ! 
If only she could be spared, and he could bear 
the anguish alone ! But this he knew could 
not be, for the heart of the mother must suffer 
at the human agony of the son she so loved. 
They talked a little of many things of interest 
to them both, then Mary hastened to prepare 
the simple noontide repast, and Jesus went to 
the room for so many years exclusively his 
own, and, after a refreshing bath, lay down 
upon his couch for a brief rest after his long, 
dusty journey. How strange it seemed to him 
that this was no longer his home ! He loved 
the room : it was full of sweet memories for 
him. Opposite his couch, upon the wall, hung 
his first piece of workmanship, done under the 
direction and guidance of his foster-father, a 
set of shelves for his early books ; and on them 
still stood several childish toys that he had 
fashioned in his boyhood for his younger broth- 
ers, now gone forth as men into the outer 
world. His mother treasured them because 
they were his workmanship. A case of drawers 
and a small table, also of his handiwork, stood 
on different sides of the room, and about each 
clustered happy memories. As he lay thinking 
thus, a white dove settled upon the ledge of 


♦Compare John 9 : 4. 


60 


MARCUS AND MIRIAM. 


his open window with a soft cooing sound. 
Jesus looked tenderly upon it, and his thoughts 
ran back to the w’onderful day when, upon the 
banks of the Jordan, the dove from the open 
heavens hovered above his head as he came up 
out of the water from his baptism. He went 
quietly to the open window, and the pretty bird 
did not shrink from the caressing touch of his 
hand. He raised it to his face, pressed his 
lips upon its snowy neck, and then held it 
without the casement that it might fly to its 
nest. But it only flew to the branches of the 
pomegranate tree overhanging the window, and 
still cooed its soft notes of love to the weary 
man within. Jesus turned from the window 
and stood a moment in silent contemplation, 
while a spasm of deep pain from some hidden 
thought contracted his face, colorless even to 
pallor ; then, throwing himself upon his knees 
beside the couch, he lay across it with out- 
stretched arms in an attitude of utter physical 
and mental exhaustion. Soon his lips began 
.to move in prayer, and gradually the deathly 
pallor left his face, and he arose to a kneeling 
posture, and with uplifted face poured forth an 
agonized prayer for power to endure, for 
strength to suffer, for divine authority over 
all evil, for complete harmony with the divine 
will. As he prayed a great peace filled his 
heart, shone through his eyes and illumined his 
face, so that when he again went forth to his 
mother, she was filled with aw'e at the beauty 
of his countenance. 

Together they sat at the simple repast, and 
the flowers he had gathered for her graced the 
board and filled the room with fragrance. Mary 
could not eat for looking at hey son, and he, 
being filled w'ith strength from a higher source, 
w’as not conscious of the need of food to sustain 
his body. Returning to the outer room, they 
sat together and conversed of many things in 
their past lives, and Jesus, again drawing his 
mother to his side, spoke of the pleasant mem- 
ories his room aw^akened, especially the articles 
he had fashioned under Joseph’s guidance. He 
told her of the gentleness of the dove that had 
alighted on the window ledge, but said no 
w’ord of the memories it had awakened, nor of 
the awful struggle through which he had passed 
before he regained the peace for which he 
wrestled. 

His mother asked him many questions con- 
cerning himself, then hesitatingly she said : 


“ My son, beloved and best of all my chil- 
dren, I have had many anxious hours concern- 
ing thee.” 

“ Yes, my mother,” said Jesus, gently drawing 
his arm more closely about her ; “ speak freely 
to me ; I would know^ all.” 

“ We hear so many alarming rumors of how 
evil men at Jerusalem seek thy life. The day 
thy brothers and I sought to approach thee 
when thou w^ast speaking, but could not get 
near because of the pressure of the multitude, 
w’e ourselves saw Aurelius of the household 
of Caiaphas accompanied by one of evil face, 
standing in the midst of the crowd not far 
from thee, eagerly w’atching thy every move- 
ment and listening to thy every word. Some- 
one near whispered to us that they w’ere w'ait- 
ing there for the purpose of killing thee w’hen 
the crowd dispersed, and we tried to send a 
w’ord of warning to thee. It was not our wish 
to disturb, but to save thee. Thy brothers, 
especially James and Jude, who are w’ith thee 
the most, urge me constantly to entreat thee 
to withdraw, for a time at least, froaa thy 
present work, that this violent opposition may 
cease.” 

‘‘Dost thou think this possible, my mother? 
— thou who knowest so w’ell for what purpose 
I came into tlje * v|^rld,” asked Jesus, gently. 

Mary’s pale face flushed, -and she hesitated a 
moment before she answ^ered : 

‘‘ But if they take thy life, my son, no one 
else can accomplish thy w’ork.” 

“ Most true ; but they cannot take my life, 
sweet mother, till the w’ork is finished for 
which I came. Even then, all they can do is 
to destroy this body ; my life belongs to God — 
that they cannot touch.” 

They sat a brief w^hile in silence, Jesus rest- 
ing his cheek against his mother’s forehead. 
Presently he said, as though dismissing these 
sad thoughts from their minds : 

“ I see thou hast still the little Egj^ptian 
lamp I so admired when a child. Has it ever 
ceased to burn?” 

“ Yes, I have it still, and the little flame has 
burned ceaselessly, just as I promised the prin- 
cess who gave it to me, it should. It has, 
you know, two burners, and w’hile one is being 
trimmed the other burns wMth steady light.” 

Jesus arose, and, approaching the shelf upon 
W’hich the lamp stood, examined it closely. 

“ It is of exquisite workmanship,” he said. 


MARCUS AND MIRIAM. 


61 


“ This outer case is very fragile and beautiful, 
made of this fine stained glass of many colors. 
And the tiny bronze lamp that holds the per- 
fumed oil is wonderful in its beauty.” 

“ Yes, and indestructible,” said Marj^ who 
was always proud of the dainty lamp that was 
given to her by an Egyptian princess many 
years before. 

Jesus lifted the little bronze lamp out of its 
frail case and looked at it curiously. “ What 
a steady, beautiful light it gives for so small 
a flame !” he said. “ But behold the case ! 
Where is its wonderful beauty now? It is only 
a very unsightly vase, possessed of no beauty 
whatever, no color but a dead leaden blue.” 

” That is because there is no light within,” 
said his mother. “ Restore the light, and it 
will be beautiful as before.” 

“ I see,” Said Jesus, ‘‘ it is the inner light 
that makes it beautiful.” 

“ Yes,” answered Mary. “ The case is of 
little value without the light. That is why 
the light is never permitted to go out.” 

Jesus looked at her a moment wistfully before 
he said gently : 

“ Can you not see the similitude, my mother? 
This lamp is like the divine spark within us 
that we call life. When it is withdrawn, the 
body, which is like this case, has lost all of 
its beauty, and is cast aside as valueless. This, 
we say, is death. When you look into my eyes, 
that which looks out at you and responds to 
every word and thought is not the human eye 
itself, for, after death, the eye is still there in 
perfect organization, but it does not respond to 
you, it lies leaden and sunken, because the 
‘inner light’ — the lamp — has been withdrawn for 
some wise purpose of the Father. That strange 
something that looks out at you through my 
eyes, like a prisoner through the bars of his 
cell, is my real self ; and that no one can injure, 
for it is in the Father’s care, and evil cannot 
reach it. Will you remember this, my mother, 
should evil counsels prevail and my hody be 
given over unto death?” 

“ I will remember it, my son,” said Mary, 
with deep emotion. 

Then they again sat down together, and Jesus, 
reaching up to a shelf whereon the different 
books of the prophets always lay, took down 
the Psalms of David, and, opening the book 
to the Ninety-first Psalm, with deep solemnity, 
read : 


“ He that dwelleth in the secret place 
of the Most High, shall abide under the 
shadow of the Almighty. 

“ I will say of the Lord, He is my 
refuge and my fortress : my God : in him 
will I trust. 

‘‘ Surely he shall deliver thee from the 
snare of the fowler, and from the noisome 
pestilence. 

“ He shall cover thee with his feathers, 
and under his wings shalt thou trust : 
his truth shall be thy shield and buckler. 

” Thou shalt not be afraid for the 
terror by night ; nor for the arrow that 
flieth by day ; 

‘‘ Nor for the pestilence that walketh 
in darkness ; nor for the destruction that 
wasteth at noonday. 

“ A thousand shall fall at thy side, and 
ten thousand at thy right hand ; but it 
shall not come nigh thee. 

“ Only with thine eyes shalt thou be- 
hold and see the reward of the wicked. 

“ Because thou hast made the Lord, 
which is my refuge, even the Most High, 
thy habitation ; 

‘‘ There shall no evil befall thee, neither 
shall any plague come nigh thy dwelling. 

“ For he shall give his angels charge 
over thee, to keep thee in all thy ways. 

” They shall bear thee up in their 
hands, lest thou dash thy foot against 
a stone. 

‘‘ Thou shalt tread upon the lion and 
adder : the young lion and the dragon 
shalt thou trample under feet. 

“ Because he hath set his love upon me, 
therefore will I deliver him : I will set 
him on high, because he hath known my 
name. 

“ He shall call upon me, and I will 
answer him : I will be with him in trou- 
ble ; I will deliver him, and honour him. 

‘‘ With long life will I satisfy him, and 
shew him my salvation.” 

As he read, his mother sat with folded hands 
and downcast eyes, and, as she listened, a sweet 
peace stole into her heart and overspread her 
face. He closed the book, replaced it on the 
shelf, and together they knelt in praj^er. Jesus 
offered up a short, earnest petition to God 
that he would lead them in all their ways, that 
he would comfort and bless them and all dear 
to them, even as he would comfort and bless 
his children everywhere ; that he would give 
them courage and strength for any trial that 
might lie before them, and make them show 


62 


MARCUS AND MIRIAM. 


forth his glory at all times and in all places, 
so that men beholding his glory shining through 
their lives might be drawn to him, the living 
Father of all. 

^Yhen he arose he placed his arm once more 
about his mother, as he said, “ Thinkest thou 
not, my mother, it would be well if thou 
wouldest refrain from going up to Jerusalem to 
the Feast of the Passover this year?” 

But Mary, looking into his eyes with a brave 
though sad smile, answered : 

“ Whatever of suffering lies before my son, 
he shall always have the comfort of knowing 
his mother is beside him.” 

Jesus stooped suddenly and pressed an ear- 
nest, tender kiss of parting upon her lips, and, 
turning, passed from the house forever. 

After walking rapidly a little distance, he 
paused as though to take a farewell of the 
beautiful spot for so many years his home. 
There lay the lovely valley beneath him, with 
its flowery hedges and its verdant flelds, and 
the narrow pathway, flower-bedecked, that led 
from the valley to the village nestling against 
the stony hillside. He had ascended a little 
way, so that the village lay in a hollow at his 
feet. He saw the synagogue wherein, as a boy, 
he had received instruction, and where, in later 
years, when the Spirit of God was upon him, 
he stood up and read : 

“ He hath anointed me to preach good tidings 
to the poor ; 

He hath sent me to proclaim release to the 
captives ; 

And recovering of sight to the blind ; 

To set at liberty them that are bruised ; 

To proclaim the acceptable year of the Lord.” 

He remembered how, offended by his plain 
teaching, they had risen against him, and would 
have cast him headlong down the hill upon 
which he stood, had not God protected him 
from their fury. He now saw the women draw- 
ing water from the well by the roadside, and 
the children playing about the fountain where 
he himself as a child had played. Then he 
turned for a last look at the home he was 
leaving forever. There it lay, on the outskirts 
of the village, half hidden by flowering vines, 
and surrounded by the tall palms and the 
flowering orange and pomegranate. There he 
knew his mother sat in solitude — for her daugh- 
ters had married and left her, her husband 


Joseph had long slept with his fathers, and 
her sons deserted Nazareth forever after its 
cruel rejection of Jesus. But there were too 
many hallowed associations connected with the 
place for Mary to desert it wholly. Jesus, as 
he looked, saw the seat beneath the trees where 
he so oft had sat to con his lessons ; he saw 
the window of the room that the greater part of 
his earthly life he had called his own, and 
marked the scarlet blossoms of the pomegranate 
making festoons with the green leaves about 
the casement. In the background he saw the 
shop where he had worked with his foster-father 
Joseph, and he fancied he could almost see the 
kindly face of the man looking from the latticed 
window. Full of tender memories, he turned 
away and hastened toward Capernaum, for the 
shadows were falling, the day was done, and 
there was nothing henceforth for him in Naz- 
areth. 

o 

CHAPTER XVI. 

The name of Jesus is not only light, l^t also 
food ; it is likewise oil, without which all of 
the food of the soul is dry ; it is salt, unsea- 
soned by which whatever is presented to us 
is insipid ; it is honey in the mouth, melody in 
the ear, joy in the heart, medicine to the soul ; 
and there are no charms in any discourse in 
which his name is not heard. — Bernard. 

W HEN Jesus and his disciples started 
upon that ever memorable tour that 
was to end only at Calvary, they 
first went to Tyre, then to Sidon, then visited 
all the cities of the Decapolis, where the many 
who had heard the testimony of the restored 
demoniac thronged to Jesus for healing and 
instruction. Then, passing hastily through 
Capernaum, they went to the neighborhood of 
Caesarea Philippi. For some reason they seem 
not to have entered that town, but to have 
visited only the lesser neighboring cities and 
villages ; then, turning southward, they pursued 
their journey toward Jerusalem. All along the 
way the people flocked about Jesus and re- 
garded him with reverence and love. The little 
children clung to his hands and held to his 
robe, and not infrequently the tiniest among 
them was carried in his arms, his little cheek 
pressed lovingly against the Teacher. Many 
were the wonderful works performed by him 
upon this journey. The sick were healed, the 


MARCUS AND MIRIAM. 


63 


lepers were cleansed, the lame were made to 
walk, the eyes of the blind were ’ opened, the 
ears of the deaf were unsealed ; and, best and 
most glorious of all, the poor had the gospel 
of the kingdom of heaven preached to them. 

Once only did Jesus return to Capernaum, 
and then but for a few hours. It is not re- 
corded for what purpose he went, but he 
entered not the synagogue, nor taught, nor 
did he at that time there do any wonderful 
work. Jairus and Marcus knew of his coming, 
and met him on the highway outside of the city, 
and took him to the palace, where he abode 
during his brief stay. Again they all sat to- 
gether on the roof in the starlight, and again 
he spoke plainly to them of his approaching 
death, and showed to them comforting glimpses 
of the “ many mansions ” in his Father’s 
house. 

Marcus accompanied him on his return, and 
Miriam was later to go with her parents to 
Jerusalem, so as to be there a little in advance 
of Passover Week. She had more than one 
comforting talk with the Teacher she so loved, 
for Jesus, seeing the anguish of her heart at 
his approaching death, would not leave her 
comfortless. He bade her remember always 
that whatever she might see him suffer was 
necessary for the opening of the gate into his 
Father’s kingdom, where she, too, would some- 
time come to share his glory. And she prom- 
ised to be brave and strong, and remember all 
that he had said to her. Alas ! how little she 
knew the agony of the way before him, or 
how great the strength that she herself would 
require to keep that promise. 

Never, through all of his after life, did Mar- 
cus forget the days that he journeyed alone 
with Jesus, nor the blessed experiences of the 
way. The other disciples, who had accom- 
panied Jesus to Capernaum, walked together 
a little in advance of Jesus and Marcus part 
of the time, as they resumed their journey, so 
that the two were practically alone, and con- 
versed with great freedom together. 

Through a country infested by robbers of 
the worst order, Marcus felt no fear by day, 
no dread by night. He seemed to live in a 
charmed circle that evil could not enter. Is it 
not ever thus with those who walk with Jesus, 
the Son of God? 

In one of the villages through which they 
passed, lived a poor woman whose name was 


Leah, and because of her great infirmity she 
was widely known as “ Crooked Leah.” While 
still but a child her shoulders had been made 
to bear heavy and grievous burdens, so that, 
little by little, the tender spine had yielded 
to the unwonted pressure and become curved 
and bent, until, when full-grown, she seemed 
no larger than a child. But, though the poor, 
maimed and distorted body was a sight sad to 
look upon, the soul that it incased was pure 
and gentle and lovely as the morning. De- 
barred, by her infirmity, from the frivolities of 
life, her thoughts had turned to nobler, better 
things, and her face reflected the beauty of 
the soul within. Everyone felt kindly toward 
the poor woman who for eighteen long years 
had been bowed and broken with this dreadful 
infirmity. Leah had heard much of the won- 
derful prophet of Nazareth, and in her inmost 
heart accepted him as the promised Messiah ; 
so, when she heard that he was to pass through 
the village in which all of her life she had 
lived, and that he would probably teach in 
their synagogue, she determined, if possible, to 
both see and hear him. It had never occurred to 
her to ask help from him for her own in- 
firmity — that she had long ago learned to accept 
with patience — but she did want to hear him 
tell of the “ house of many mansions ” in his 
Father’s kingdom. So one Sabbath morning, 
when she heard that he was approaching the 
village, she crept into the synagogue and stood 
near one of the great pillars, that she might 
be protected from the surging crowd that she 
knew would fill the place to see One whose 
fame was filling every mouth. 

^yhen Jesus entered the synagogue, the first 
form that he saw was that of the deformed 
woman, and the purity and sweetness of the 
patient face that looked so wistfully and eagerly 
toward him, appealed at once to his heart of 
tender compassion. The poor neck, he saw, 
was sadly and cruelly twisted, in order to get 
the eyes high enough to look into the face of 
the prophet she revered and loved. The love 
and adoration he saw in those eyes met with 
a quick response, for, crossing at once to where 
she stood, he laid his hand upon her and said 
gently : 

“ Daughter, be loosed from thine infirmity.” 

Instantly she stood tall and erect, a comely 
woman, who threw herself in adoration at his 
feet and praised him for his wondrous mercy. 


64 


MARCUS AND MIRIAM. 


The people crowded about him in awe and 
wonder, and many believed on Jesus for this 
act of mercy. The ruler of the synagogue — 
ah ! the ruler, clothed in a little brief author- 
ity — both feared and hated Jesus because of 
his wonderful power over evil of every kind, 
and because of his great influence over the mul- 
titude wherever he went, so he seized this 
opportunity of persecuting him for healing this 
poor unfortunate. 

“ There are six days in which men ought 
to work,” said he to the multitude ; “ come and 
be healed in these, and not on the Sabbath 
day.” 

Then Jesus, with indignation, said to him, 
“ Hypocrite ! Do you not loose your ox or 
your donkey from the stall, and lead him away 
to be watered upon the Sabbath? And shall 
not this poor woman, whom Satan hath bound 
for, lo, these eighteen years, be loosed also 
upon the Sabbath?” 

And the ruler was shamed into silence, and 
all the people rejoiced that Jesus had triumphed. 
Then Leah, who had listened in amazement to 
the rebuke of the ruler to this great prophet, 
again approached him, and with tearful, up- 
lifted eyes, said tremblingly : 

“ Teacher, take back thy wonderful gift of 
mercy to thy servant. Rather than harm should 
come to thee, I would bear the pain and humili- 
ation forever. The remembrance of thy love to 
me w’ould make the burden light.” 

Jesus, looking upon her tear-stained, earnest 
face, saw nothing of the coarse servant’s garb 
she wore, nor cared for the rude sneering of 
the ruler and his followers. He laid his hand 
tenderly upon her head as he said, “ In my 
Father’s house are many mansions. Thou, my 
daughter, hast won thy place therein. Fear 
nothing, but go in peace.” And she departed 
with a heart filled with rejoicing. Jesus, turn- 
ing to John, his beloved disciple, who stood 
near him, said : 

“ Scarce three days ago, ten lepers were 
cleansed of their loathsome and fatal disease 
and restored to the rights of home and citizen- 
ship, from which, by that dread disease, they 
were debarred. Thou knowest that one alone 
of the ten returned to thank me for God’s mercy 
to them. One alone was 'grateful enough to 
promise to live henceforth a better life ; yet 
this poor woman, whose soul was white within 
the distorted body, even in the first glad mo- 


ments of her freedom, comes and begs me to re- 
call the mercy shown, lest evil may come to me 
for the act. This, John beloved, is gratitude 
such as is seldom found, and of such white 
souls is the kingdom of my Father composed.” 

Thus from day to day and from hour to hour, 
was the journey pursued, which, though long 
and circuitous, was bringing Jesus nearer to 
the cross on which he was to suffer. He knew 
that it was there, he knew that it would rear 
its ghastly head on Calvary at the appointed 
time, yet steadfastly he went forward, step by 
step, blessing and helping all with whom he 
came in contact, never forgetting, yet never 
shrinking from the dread fate that lay before 
him. 

On the eastern slope of the Mount of Olives, 
about two miles east of Jersusalem, lay the 
beautiful village of Bethany, surrounded by its 
groves of dates and olives. It was there that 
the two sisters, Mary and Martha, with their 
brother Lazarus, lived ; and in their lovely home 
Jesus often stopped when visiting Jerusalem, 
for he had no friends whom he loved mtfre ten- 
derly than these three. It was this Mary, who, 
after Lazarus’ resurrection, anointed Jesus’ 
head and feet with the costly spikenard oint- 
ment, and wiped his feet with the long silken 
tresses of her hair, and of w'hom, when some 
would have found fault with her for so doing, 
Jesus said tenderly, “ Let her alone ; she is 
but anointing me in preparation for my burial.” 

Lazarus and Martha and Mary loved Jesus 
for the wonderful depth and sweetness of his 
divine nature, and for that indefinable something 
that drew all men unto him, save those who, 
in their evil hearts, sought to destroy him. 
Lazarus became one of his most devoted fol- 
lowers and friends, and, next to John, he was 
beloved of Jesus. In his frequent visits to their 
home in Bethany, if Mary could but sit at his 
feet and listen to his converse with her brother, 
she was supremely happy and content. He 
had become the center of her world, and there 
was no happiness for her apart from him. 

Martha also loved Jesus, but her ambition 
was to surround him with creature-comforts 
during his stay with them, to prepare dainty 
food to set before him, and to adorn the room pre- 
pared for him with fragrant flowers and perfumed 
linen. She, too, loved to listen to his gracious 
and instructive conversation, but she felt that 


MARCUS AND MIRIAM. 65 


the duties of hospitality were paramount to 
her own pleasure, and in this way she lost much 
of the blessing her sister gained. This fact she 
finally realized. For, once, when doubly busy 
with household duties, as she passed through 
the room where Jesus and Lazarus sat convers- 
ing, and saw Mary, full of happy content, sit- 
ting listening at their feet, she paused and called 
aloud to Jesus, “ Master, dost thou care that 
MaiT leaveth me to perform all the household 
work alone? Wilt thou not bid her come and help 
me serve?” And Jesus looked up into the face 
before him, pleasant and loving in spite of her 
protest, and answered her in tender reproof : 

Martha, Martha ! Thou art anxious and 
troubled about many things, dear child. Why 
not choose, as Mary has done, the better part, 
and learn of the things that tell of the blessed 
life that no man can take from thee?” 

Mary, who loved her sister dearly, sprang 
to her feet, and, hastening to her, said : ” Come, 
dearest Martha ; come and hear of the won- 
derful life of wdiich Jesus tells. Come, and 
afterward I will help thee with the work that 
seems so trivial to me when Jesus is here.” 

“ Yes, Martha, come,” said Jesus, reaching 
his hand invitingly to her. And Martha, very 
willing to be persuaded, came and sat down by 
Jesus. He talked to them of the wonderful 
river of life, that flowed from beneath his 
Father’s throne, that washed away all sin and 
uncleanness and gave eternal life to all that 
would drink of its healing waters. 

“ But, teacher,” said Martha, practical in 
all things, “ with all of our desire to enter this 
perfect life, how are we to grow into it with 
■our imperfect natures? With such as thou 
it is no mystery, for thou wert pure and good 
from the beginning, but we — alas ! there is no 
good in us !” 

” Thou hast said the word, my child ; grow 
into it step by step. No grain or fruit is born 
perfect into the world. We place the seed of 
corn in the ground and cover it with the mold. 
The rain falls upon it, and the sun warms the 
•earth above it, and after a time the clod of clay 
is broken, and the tiny blade appears. First 
the seed, then the blade, then the full ripe ear. 
I would plant the seed of God’s dear love in 
your hearts ; he waters and warms it with the 
rain of his mercy and the sun of his loving- 
kindness, and, in due time, the Holy Spirit pro- 
nounces it as ripe for the garner of the Lord. 


But only by patience and care can the harvest 
come.” 

In after days they dwelt in loving remem- 
brance upon these words so full of encourage- 
ment and love. 

o 

CHAPTER XVII. 

“ Behold how he loved him.” 

J ESUS, with his disciples, and his devoted 
follower, Marcus, now made a mission- 
ary tour of Perea, the country lying east 
of the Jordan. The Jews had become so violent 
towards him that he went into this voluntary 
retirement across the Jordan in order to avoid 
being arrested by them before the time which 
he knew had been set apart by the Father for 
the closing scene in the drama of his mortal 
life. In the course of this journey, they came 
to Bethabara, only a little distance south of 
the Sea of Galilee, and he did there many won- 
derful things that proved to the people that 
he was truly the Messiah whom John the Baptist 
had in that very place first declared him to be. 
During one of the most memorable days of his 
ministry there, word was brought to him that 
his beloved friend, Lazarus, of Bethany, was 
very ill, and, with the word, came an urgent 
plea from Mary and Martha, the sisters of 
Lazarus, that Jesus would hasten to them and 
save the brother they so loved. To the sur- 
prise of all, especially of his disciples, who 
knew how well-beloved of Jesus both Lazarus 
and his two sisters w'ere, he delayed his depart- 
ure for two days after the message came, send- 
ing word to Mary and Martha that this sick- 
ness of their brother was “ not unto death, but 
for the glory of God.” 

How strange this message must have seemed 
to them, coming as it did from one whom they 
trusted and loved as they did Jesus, for already, 
wdien it was received, Lazarus was not only 
dead, but buried.* 

“ Oh !” said Martha to her sister, as they wept 
beside the lifeless body of their brother, “ why 
does he seem to have forgotten us now in our 
hour of greatest need?” 

And Mary whispered through her tears, “ He 


♦Obviously, if Jesus only delayed two days, yet found 
Lazarus dead four days, he could not have arrived in 
time to save his life if he had started at once. The 
delay, then, only accentuated the miracle of resurrec- 
tion.— [R. W. S. 


66 


MARCUS AND MIRIAM. 


has not forgotten us ; something tells me that 
when he comes he will show us clearly that this 
trial, though so grievous to us now, will really 
in some way ‘ show forth the Father’s glory,’ 
as he has sent us word. If only he would 
come !” she moaned. “ If only he would come !” 

Two days after the message was received by 
Jesus at Bethabara, he said to his disciples : 

“ Come, let us now return again to Judea.” 

But Peter — impetuous Peter — said : “ Lord, 
why return into Judea when thou knowest 
those are there who constantly seek thy life?” 

Jesus answered, ‘‘ Nothing can harm me with- 
out the Father’s will. I have no fear, so long 
as I know I am in the line of my duty. Laz- 
arus sleepeth and I go to awaken him.” 

“ Then,” said some of his disciples, “ if he 
sleep. Lord, he doeth well ; so why endanger 
thy life without cause?” 

Then Jesus, seeing that they could not under- 
stand, said to them plainly, “ Lazarus is dead, 
and I am glad for your sakes that I was not 
there, to the intent that ye may believe ; never- 
theless, let us go unto him.” 

Thomas, though one of the doubting, and, at 
times, unbelieving disciples, was much devoted 
to the Master, and at once his tender heart re- 
jected the thought of allowing this Master whom 
they all so loved to go into danger alone, so he 
burst forth, with almost Peter’s impetuosity, 
saying, ‘‘ If he will go, let us go also, that we 
may die with him.” 

Thus, accompanied by his disciples, Jesus 
started on his return to Bethany. He well 
knew the dangers that awaited him, he knew 
the Jews were lying in wait, not only to oppose 
him, but, if possible, to kill him ; but he could 
not resist the cry of these dearly beloved friends, 
though, to all outward seeming, he had neglected 
them in the time of greatest need. 

It was in the early morning that they ap- 
proached Bethany in Judea. Even then, Jesus 
did not go to the house of Lazarus, that had 
so often been his home in his journeyings, but 
stopped outside the village, and said to John : 
“ Go secretly to the home of Mary and Martha, 
and say that I am waiting for them at this 
place. They will understand and come to me.” 

John hastened to do his bidding, and, as he 
approached the house, not far distant, he found 
Martha, who could not neglect even in the midst 
of her sorroAV her household duties, engaged 
in preparing the morning meal, and he said 


to her quietly, that others might not hear, 
“ The Master has come and would see both you 
and your sister.” 

“ Oh,” said Martha, dropping at once the 
work upon which she was engaged, “ take me 
to him quickly !” And she hastened to throw 
herself at the feet of Jesus with the cry, “ Oh,, 
teacher, hadst thou been here my brother ha.'i 
not died ! Why didst thou forget us in our 
sorrow? But I know that even now God will 
do for thee whatever thou wilt ask.” 

Jesus, with his heart full of pity, replied,. 
“ Thy brother shall rise again.” 

“ Yes,” answered Martha, “ I know that he 
shall rise at the resurrection on the last day ; 
but, oh, why were we to lose him now !” 

Jesus said softly to her, “ I am the resur- 
rection and the life ; he that believeth on me, 
though he die, yet shall he live. Believest thou 
this, Martha?” 

“ Yea, Lord, I do believe thou art the Christ, 
the Son of God.” 

Jesus answered her tenderly, “ Waver not in- 
thy faith, and all shall yet be well. Where is; 
Mary that she came not also with thee?” 

Then Martha, who felt a little conscience- 
stricken that in her haste she bad left the 
house without even telling her sister, hastened 
back, and, finding that many friends had come 
and were sitting in the room with Mary irr 
order to comfort her in her sorrow, she went 
in quietly and whispered, “ The teacher has; 
come, and calleth for thee.” 

Then Mary, without a word to those about 
her, rose hastily, accompanied Martha from the 
room, and together they returned to where 
Jesus was awaiting them. Marj^ when she saw 
Jesus, did even as Martha had done, falling 
down at his feet and crying unto him, “ Lord, 
if thou hadst been here, my brother had not 
died.” 

Mary’s friends, who had been watching with 
her in the house, were somewhat startled by- 
her sudden departure, and they said to one 
another, “She has certainly gone to the grave 
of Lazarus, to weep there. Let us accompany 
her, that possibly we may comfort her in her 
sorrow.” But, when they followed closely after 
the two sisters, they found it was to Jesus 
they had gone, not to their brother^'s grave, and 
when they saw Mary at the great teacher’s feet, 
weeping, they also wept and sorrowed with her. 

Then was Jesus deeply troubled; his heart 


MARCUS AND MIRIAM. 


67 


ached for these women who had been for so many 
years his friends, and he said, with deep sym- 
pathy in every tone, “ Where have ye laid him?” 

Then the two sisters, one upon either side, 
drew him gently forward and whispered, ” Come 
and see,” As he walked with them, deep sobs 
came from each broken heart, and Jesus’ own 
heart was torn wuth anguish that they should 
so suffer, and tears of sympathy chased each 
other down his cheeks. 

The Jews who were with them whispered one 
to the other, “ Behold how he loved him !” 
And some said, “ Could not this man, who they 
say has so much power with God, have saved 
his friend, whom he seems to so love, from 
death?” 

When they reached the tomb, they gathered 
about the entrance, even the sisters thinking 
that Jesus had come to do reverence to the 
memory of the dead. For a moment he stood 
silent and sad. Then lifting up his face he 
looked steadfastly for a moment into the heav- 
ens. Turning to the men who were standing 
near, he said, in a tone of command, ” Take 
away the stone.” 

Mary was watching eagerly to see what he 
would do. But when Martha heard his com- 
mand, her natural horror of the dead, even 
though dear to her in life, overcame her, so that 
she said, “ Nay, nay, teacher ; he hath already 
lain four days in the tomb ; let them not dis- 
turb him now.” 

In reply, Jesus said softly unto her, “ Said I 
not that, if thou believedst, thou shouldest see 
the glory of God?” And his voice, so full of 
strange power, caused her to step back and 
hold her peace. Then once more Jesus said: 
“ Take away the stone.” And they took it 
away. Again Jesus, lifting his voice, said : 
‘‘ I thank thee. Father, that thou hast heard 
me, and that thou wilt for thine own glory show 
forth thy love and power.” And Jesus, looking 
steadfastly into the darkness of the sepulcher, 
cried with a loud voice, ” Lazarus, come forth !” 
And the young man, with his face bound with 
a napkin* and his winding sheet about him, 
stepped to the entrance of the tomb and stood 
looking out upon the multitude. But what 
strange sight is this? Although bound from 
bead to foot in the clothes of the grave, his face 


♦Tird under the jaws, to keep the mouth closed, not 
over the eyes. 


is not that of a dead man, but the skin is as 
roseate as in health ; and his eyes — that look 
with inquiry upon the great teacher — are bright 
and full of intelligence. Then Jesus said, 
“ Loose him, and let him go.” 

• •••••• 

Most of the multitude who had gathered 
about the tomb to see what Jesus would do, 
when they saw Lazarus come forth cried aloud, 
“It is a spirit!” and fled, affrighted, from the 
tomb. Martha, with dilated eyes and face pallid 
with terror, crouched upon the ground and gazed 
from Jesus to her brother with an appalled look ; 
but Mary, kneeling with clasped hands uplifted, 
whispered in an ecstasy of feeling, “ He is the 
Christ ! He is the promised Messiah ! He is — 
he is the Christ !” 

Jesus stepped forward and put his arms 
about the neck- of the friend he so loved, and 
said, “For the Father’s glory hath this been 
permitted.” Then he unbound the napkin from 
about the face of Lazarus, that he might be 
wholly free, for those who had essayed to obey 
the command “ Loose him, and let him go,” in 
their great terror had left it still bound about 
him,^and had slipped away with the others who 
had fled. 

Lazarus, dropping upon his knees, kissed 
again and again the sandaled feet of Jesus, 
w-ho, tenderly raising him, presented him alive 
and well to his astonished and bewildered sis- 
ters. 

Together they returned to the village, and 
Jesus went with Mary and Lazarus and Martha 
to their pleasant home ; for, even in the face 
of the great danger that threatened him, he 
could not forsake them in an hour like this. 

And what a reunion that was between the four ! 
— one coming back to them from beyond the walls 
of the other life. Long they sat together, into 
the hours of the night, after the simple evening 
repast was over, for Jesus well knew, though 
they knew it not, that this would be his last 
quiet visit with them upon earth. When next 
he came, it would be at the approach of the 
Passover Week, and thenceforward to the jour- 
ney to Calvary danger and death would con- 
stantly confront him and terrify and sadden 
the friends who loved him most. Peter and 
James and John, alone of the disciples, to- 
gether with Marcus, were with him in the home 
of Lazarus, the others having retired to the 


68 


MARCUS AND MIRIAM. 


little camping-ground outside the village. It 
■was here that Jesus spoke to them more plainly 
of his approaching death, and, turning, said to 
Lazarus : 

“ Thou mayest tell them whether or not the 
life beyond the grave is anything to dread.” 

Lazarus, with an ineffable look of peace upon 
his face, said : 

“ Oh, my friend, my Master, thou, too, know- 
est.” 

Jesus did not stay until the morning, lest 
the Jews should seek him even in that place of 
peace, for many who had witnessed the raising 
of Lazarus had been absolutely convinced by 
this miracle that Jesus was the Christ, and 
publicly proclaimed their faith, as they told 
the wonderful story. But - some, alas ! with 
hatred in their hearts, bore the story to the 
chief priests and Jews, as a new evidence of 
his seeking to draw the people from the true 
faith to which they owed allegiance. 

While the stars were yet shining, Jesus, to- 
gether with his disciples, journeyed to Ephraim, 
where he remained quiet during the short time 
intervening before his final return to Jerusa- 
lem. 

0 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

The love I bear for thee is deep and true ; 

Peril and toil, even death. I’ll gladly meet 

If I may only worship at thy feet. 

Or lowliest tasks in thy blest service do. 

—R. R. S. 

W HEN on this last peaceful visit to 
Bethany, rhe hours so full of joy had 
slipped by almost unheeded, and, as 
the evening repast was over, Jesus arose and sig- 
naled to Marcus to accompany him outside the 
cottage. The others, understanding well that 
Marcus was to remain no longer in the com- 
pany who would go with Jesus to Ephraim, the 
little City of the Plain, and realizing how much 
a little privacy would mean to Marcus, if not 
to Jesus also, refrained from interrupting them, 
and they went forth together to a retired spot. 

“ John Mark,” said Jesus, tenderly, “ I shall 
miss thee at our nightly gatherings, but it is 
well that thou shouldest precede me to Jeru- 
salem. There is much that must be done that 
only thou canst do for me.” 

“ Teacher,” replied the young man, with deep 


emotion, “ thou knowest how gladly I lay my 
life, my all, for service at thy feet. Speak only, 
and say to me plainly, what thou wouldest have 
me do, and with my life I will perform it.” 

“ Thy father, thou well knowest, has long 
been a dear and trusted friend to me. For 
his sake I would not let this be publicly pro- 
claimed. It would only have caused for him 
the hatred of the Sanhedrin, and have done 
for me no good. Hence I have thought it 
wiser and better that our deep friendship for 
one another should be secret as well as fervent. 
Not even John and Peter, who know so well 
the most that I do, know anything whatever 
of this. I do not think they would recognize 
thy honored father should they meet him, much 
less do they dream that he and I have many 
plans in common, that he alone has carried for- 
ward for me. Say to him, when thou seest him, 
John Mark, that I have still one last favor to 
ask of him.” 

“ Thou knowest, my teacher, how gladly all 
that thou desirest he will hasten to do ; only 
speak the word, that I may bear it to him.” 

“ Say to him, beloved son, that this last favor 
I would ask of him he himself long ag<j, sug- 
gested to me, little dreaming in what manner it 
would be received. Once and again hath he 
said to me in the past : ‘ In the upper portion 
of my house there is a banqueting-room that 
I have long desired to fill with guests to honor 
thee.’ But I have always bidden him wait, not 
desiring to call the attention of the Jews to 
his interest in me. Say to him that now he 
may prepare that upper chamber for my use, 
and in it I will eat with my disciples the Pass- 
over Supper. But with my disciples only, John 
Mark ; I may not even bid thee come, nor thy 
beloved father. Hereafter, thou wilt know the 
reason for this, and thou wilt trust me without 
further explanation. This banquet must, for 
the present, be kept wholly secret ; the Jews 
must not even know that I am to enter thy 
father’s house. In one of his rooms he hath 
shown me an earthen pitcher, most artistically 
and beautifully decorated. Say to him to send 
a man servant with this pitcher to the fountain 
at the end of the street, at the hour preceding 
that fixed for the supper. I will direct John 
and Peter to go to the fountain, and, when they 
see a man bearing such a pitcher as I shall 
describe, to follow him until he reaches his 
master’s house. They will not know that it is 


MARCUS AND MIRIAM. 


69 


to thy father’s house that he is going. They 
shall ask for ‘ the goodman of the house,’ and 
shall say to thy father, when they are brought 
into his presence, ‘ The teacher desireth to eat 
the Passover with his disciples in thy banquet- 
ing-room ;’ and let him lead them thither. Thou 
wilt remember all this faithfully in thy heart, 
John Mark, and, as I said before, the time will 
come when thou wilt remember and understand 
all that I have said.” 

Marcus bent over and kissed the hand of 
Jesus, and his voice choked with emotion as 
he responded : 

“ I will remember ; I will perform all that 
thou hast said, and, when the time shall come, 
I will be there and see that all thy wishes and 
desires are carried out.” 

Then Jesus, laying his hands a moment in 
blessing upon the young man’s head, bent over 
and pressed his lips upon his cheek. And so 
they parted, Jesus to go to the City of the 
Plain, arrd Marcus to Jerusalem. 

After parting from Jesus, Marcus bent his 
steps toward Jerusalem, and, upon entering 
the city, hastened at once to the house of his 
father. He found him at home, surrounded by 
guests — merchants who had come with a cara- 
van to the city and had hastened to see their 
early friend, the “ goodman of the house,” with 
whom they were now concluding their evening 
repast. They all greeted Marcus with much 
pleasure, for he was ever a favorite with his 
father’s friends. Marcus sat for a little while 
in their midst, listening to their conversation, 
which was full of life and hilarity, but which 
grated most discordantly upon his feelings, com- 
ing as he had from scenes of such a different 
nature than those now before him. After a 
short time, he excused himself to his father 
and his father’s friends on the plea of weari- 
ness, and retired to the privacy of his own room. 
Here his father, after the guests had departed, 
sought him, and Marcus, with great earnestness, 
availed himself of the opportunity to tell him 
of the many wmnderful scenes through which he 
of late had passed. He was glad of this private 
interview with his father, and, closing the door 
of his room, so as to make their privacy more 
complete, he narrated his last conversation 
wuth Jesus, and delivered the messages that 
had been sent by Jesus to his friend, the father 
of Marcus. 

The “ goodman of the house ” seemed greatly 


interested in all that his son now told him. 
In answer to an earnest inquiry from Marcus, 
he admitted that he had long been an intimate 
friend of Jesus, though privately. 

“Where did you first meet him, and how?” 
inquired Marcus. “It never occurred to me 
that you could know him, until Jesus himself 
told me at the house of Jairus.” 

“ Well,” said his father, in a contemplative 
mood, “ I have for some years been very much 
dissatisfied with the teachings of the Sanhedrin, 
and believed there was a better way, if we could 
only find it. One day, in coming from the hill 
country, I chanced upon a throng. of people 
whom Jesus was addressing, and, stopping on 
the outskirts of the crowd, I listened attentively 
to all that he might say. I was surprised and 
pleased at the purity and beauty of the doctrine 
he taught, and I said to myself, ‘ This surely 
is a true prophet, and he is teaching the truths 
for which I so long have sought.’ Several times 
thereafter, at intervals, I heard him, and more 
than once tried to meet him personally. But, 
in some way, and, as I now find, not accidentally, 
he managed to evade me, and it was not until 
some months after first hearing him that we 
met one night, as I was journeying to Caper- 
naum. I saw him walking with some of his 
disciples, on the way there, and, alighting from 
my chariot, wdiich I ordered should return to 
Jerusalem, I drew near and attached myself to 
his party, with the usual traveler’s salutation. 
His disciples, as I found was their usual custom, 
walked on a little in advance, when they saw 
that .Jesus had turned to me, thus leaving us 
at liberty to converse in freedom. I told him 
how pleased I was to have this opportunity to 
meet him, how I had sought to know him, how 
I had listened to him more than once as he 
taught the people, that I believed the doctrine 
he taught was true, and that it was my desire 
to attach mj’'self to him henceforth in all of 
his goings. At this he turned to me with a 
look of ineffable tenderness upon his face, and, 
stretching forth his hand, he said, ‘ I have long 
known this, David, my friend, but I wms not 
willing that thou shouldest sacrifice thy well- 
being and, perchance, thy life, for me.’ I was 
more than astonished that he should call me 
thus familiarly by name, and I at once re- 
sponded, ‘ I should not consider it a sacrifice to 
do anything that would advance thy cause.’ 
We talked together earnestly for some time, and 


70 


MARCUS AND MIRIAM. 


then he said to me, ‘ David, my friend, canst 
thou not see that there are many ways in which 
thou canst serve me, provided our friendship 
is not publicly known? But, by attaching thy- 
self to me, thou wilt at once be identified with 
my cause, and any evil that may come to me 
would likewise come to thee. This I cannot 
permit. But, if thou wilt be my friend, there 
are ways in which thou canst help me, without 
the knowledge of others, until the time shall 
come w’hen our friendship for one another 
can be known.’ He talked so earnestly that 
I could but see the wisdom with which he 
spoke, and promised I would abide by anything 
he should desire. And so it came to pass that, 
as we neared Capernaum, I entered by the west- 
ern gate and left Jesus and his disciples to 
proceed along the shore. Since then, in many 
ways, he has called upon me for favors, that 
I could do only by having it unknown that we 
were personal friends. He has always promised 
that when the time came, he would call upon 
me for one favor, beyond which I could ask 
no greater, and now I see his meaning ; he 
would eat the Passover Supper with his dis- 
ciples in my banqueting chamber. It shall all 
be as he desires.” 

“ Yes,” answered Marcus, “ it shall all be as 
he desires.” 

A few days after Marcus’ arrival in Jerusa- 
lem, Miriam and her parents joined him, de- 
siring to spend some little time in the city 
before the Feast of the Passover. 

One evening, as they were walking down one 
of the narrow streets, they stopped to examine 
some strange curios in a little shop ; and, while 
they were intently observing them, a group of 
noisy men, headed by Aurelius, of the house- 
hold of Caiaphas, entered the shop. Aurelius 
at once perceived that Marcus and Miriam were 
there, but made no sign, proceeding boisterously 
with the conversation upon which he and his 
companions were engaged when entering the 
shop. 


*’ What wilt thou then do?” asked one of his 
companions. 

“Do?” said Aurelius, with a brutal laugh. 
“ We will make this wonderful Nazarene 
prophet show the divinity of his power. I tell 
you it will be a more wonderful sight than even 
the gladiatorial races. Thou must not fail to 
see it, Perseus.” 

Marcus hurriedly drew Miriam from the shop, 
and, as they passed out, Aurelius said sneer- 
ingly, in a tone loud enough for them to hear : 

“ There go two of the most devoted follow- 
ers of this Nazarene.” 

“ Is not that the daughter of Jairus, whom 
Jesus raised from the dead?” questioned one of 
his companions. 

“ The dead !” said Aurelius, with a sneer. 
“ She was only feigning death, and anyone 
could have awakened her. Jesus himself said, 
‘ She is not dead, but sleepeth,’ and it is only 
such fanatics as these you see before you who 
insist that he performed a miracle*.” 

At this, there was a brutal laugh all around, 
and Marcus, with a flushed face, drew Miriam 
into a side-street and out of the way quickly as 
possible. There could be no quarrel in the 
presence of his wife ; besides, alas ! what wmuld 
it avail. Jesus himself had declared thg^ the 
hour for his death had come, and any inter- 
ference on their part might only make it more 
terrible for him. 

Miriam, white and very quiet, walked by her 
husband’s side, until they reached the doorway 
of his father’s house, when, looking up with a 
pitiful glance into the face of her husband, she 
cried : 

“Oh, Marcus! What wfill they do with him?” 

He drew her gently within the entrance of 
the house, then said earnestly to her : 

“We must remember all that he taught us in 
those two wonderful nights that we spent to- 
gether upon the roof of the palace.” 

“ Yes,” said Miriam, the light springing into 
her eyes, “ we must remember.” 



MARCUS AND MIRIAM. 


71 


CHAPTER XIX. 

Hark ! the thrilling symphonies — 

Their joyous raptures seize us ! 

Join we, too, the holy lays, 

Jesus, Jesus, Jesus! 

Sweetest note in seraph’s song. 

Sweetest name on mortal tongue, 
Sweetest carol ever sung — 

Jesus, Jesus, Jesus ! 

— Old Hymn. 

I N THE meantime, at Jerusalem, the chief 
priest and the scribes were plotting how 
they might destroy him. Many and excit- 
ing were the discussions held in the Sanhedrin 
concerning Jesus. Some few members of the 
Council, in their inmost hearts, believed he 
was indeed the Christ, but, through a secret 
fear of Caiaphas and the chief rulers, they 
forebore to openly espouse his cause, but quietly 
used their influence to prevent extreme meas- 
ures being taken against him. Nicodemus, 
Gamaliel and Joseph of Arimathea, were espe- 
cially solicitous that no evil should prevail 
against him ; but, unfortunately, they were de- 
cidedly in the minority and could accomplish 
but little. 

After Jesus had healed the impotent man at 
the Pool of Bethesda, and was assailed by the 
scribes for healing on the Sabbath day, espe- 
cially after he had turned upon them with scath- 
ing and just rebuke for their hypocrisy,* there 
wms a stormy and turbulent session of the 
Sanhedrin. They sent for Jesus when they 
had heard of his healing upon the Sabbath day, 
glad in their hearts of this opportunity to re- 
prove and humiliate him, and he had taken the 
scourge into his own hands and held them up 
to the scorn of all who heard him. He had 
dared to say to them — to them who carried all 
the wisdom of the age in their wise heads ! — 
“ Ye search the Scriptures, because ye think 
that in them ye have eternal life, and these are 
they that bear witness of me; and yet ye will 
not come to me, that ye may have life. I know 
you, that you have not the love of God ‘in your 
hearts, else would you receive me, because I 
come in my Father’s name.” 

It was after Jesus had gone out from their 
presence that they went into secret session and 
strove to find some way of compassing his 
death. They “ gnashed upon him with their 


♦Recorded in St. John, 5th chapter. 


teeth,” and would have sent him to instant 
death, had the power to do so lain with them. 
As it did not, they strove to accomplish by 
strategy what they otherwise could not do. Then 
it was that Nicodemus, the reticent but the 
just, said quietly to them, “ Must you not first 
try a man before you condemn him? Is not 
that the law?” And they had no answer for 
him, but the taunt, “ Wilt thou, too, follow 
the Nazarene?” Then Gamaliel, looked upon 
as the wisest man in the council, said : 

“ Would it not be wise in us to let this mat- 
ter rest until w’e see what will become of it? 
It would be a fearful thing to find that we 
were fighting against the living God, and this 
man affirms that he is sent forth by him.” 

“ He is sent forth by the evil one,” said 
Caiaphas, wrathfully. “ It is teaching just 
such doctrines as he teaches that overthrows 
all civil and religious law.” 

“ I had not heard from reliable sources,” said 
Gamaliel, calmly, “ that his teaching was sedi- 
tious. I have noticed him closely, since, as a 
boy of twelve, he appeared before us here in 
the Council ; for I was curious to note into 
what such strange intelligence in one so yonng 
would develop.” 

“ Ah !” said Joseph of Arimathea, “ I was 
not a member of the Council at that time, and 
would be glad to know from one who was pres- 
ent the circumstances as they occurred.” 

‘‘ There was nothing, I think, that you have 
not probably heard. We were in the midst of 
a very interesting discussion on some intricate 
points of the law, when we noticed the boy 
Jesus in our midst, listening with rapt atten- 
tion to all that was said. No one had seen 
him enter, or had any idea how he had, unno- 
ticed, gained access to the Council chamber, 
but his face bore such a look of intense inter- 
est, and his deportment was so gentle and at 
the same time so dignified for one so young, 
that none were disposed to molest him. Finally 
he began, with modesty and deference, to ask 
questions of the members of the Council, some 
of which we found it difficult to answer ; and, 
if the answer was not perfectly clear and satis- 
factory to him, it would be followed by ques- 
tions more searching still, until, in self-defense, 
as it were, the Council began to question and 
catechise him. His answers were so clear and 
so full of wisdom that we were all amazed, and 
wondered whence he had acquired such knowl- 


72 


MARCUS AND MIRIAM. 


edge of hidden things. Several hours, full of 
intense interest to all, had passed, and we 
were growing more and more astonished at 
his bearing and his wisdom, when his parents 
entered, in much agitation, searching for him. 
It seems that they had left Jerusalem, at the 
close of the feast, with the caravan that went 
eastward, in order to return to their home at 
Nazareth ; and, after a day’s journey from the 
city, they discovered that Jesus w^as not, as they 
had supposed, with the caravan. Greatly alarmed, 
they had returned to search for him in the 
city, and, after a vain search for days, at last, 
in their desperation, they came to the Sanhedrin, 
where they found him, both listening to the doc- 
tors and asking them questions. His mother, over- 
joyed at finding him, said : ‘ My son, why didst 
thou leave us thus? Thy father and I have 
sought for thee sorrowing.’ In reply he turned 
to his mother respectfully, but with a look 
upon his face I never could understand, and 
said: ‘Why did ye seek for me? Thou, at 
least, my mother, shouldest understand that 
it is time I should begin to look after my 
Father’s business.’ ” 

“ There,” said Caiaphas, with a sneer, ‘‘ is 
where we differ. To my recollection he w’as 
arrogant and full of self-conceit. He stole his 
way into the Council of the most learned men 
of the nation, and, an impertinent child, asked 
questions that an older and a wiser head would 
have shrunk from asking. It is that disposi- 
tion in the boy that has developed and matured 
him into the pestilent fellow that he has now 
become. Had we been wise, we would have 
reproved and punished him then, and nipped 
in the bud his evil purposes.” 

“Did he ever return to the Council?” asked 
Joseph of Arimathea. 

“ No,” answered Gamaliel. “ But, curious 
about the boy, once, some time afterwards, 
when passing through Nazareth, I made in- 
quiries concerning him, and found he was living 
quietly at home with his parents, assisting his 
father in his work as a carpenter, and was 
regarded by the community as a remarkably 
intelligent and dutiful child. His playmates all 
loved him — called him the ‘ little prince,’ and 
carried all of their differences to him for arbi- 
tration. I called at Joseph’s shop, myself, and 
found Jesus working at his own bench in a re- 
mote end of it. Looking up, he at once recognized 
me. Coming forward and respectfully saluting 


me, he presented me to his father, and modestly 
returned to his work. After a few moments’ 
conversation about my journey, Joseph called 
to Jesus to go into the dwelling and ask his 
mother to send refreshments for a guest, for 
the day was warm. The boy obeyed, and, dur- 
ing his absence, I questioned concerning him. 
‘Where had he attended school?’ ‘Only in 
the village schools.’ ‘ But this strange knowl- 
edge for one so young, as evinced by his ques- 
tions and answers when before the Council — 
had he had no skilled instructors in the law?’ 
Joseph was silent for a moment, then said : 
‘ He often bewilders and amazes us by his 
knowledge, but whence it comes, I know not.’ 
When Jesus returned with the tray, I asked 
him : ‘ Will you not again visit the Council 
chamber?’ He hesitated a moment and seemed 
lost in thought, then turning to me, with the 
same look upon his face that had attracted my 
attention when he had addressed his mother 
that day in this same room, he said, quietly 
and respectfully : ‘ Yes, I shall again be there ; 
but not yet for a time.’ And with the same 
courtly bearing I had before observed, he bade 
me adieu and returned to his work.” 

Caiaphas had turned many times uneasily in 
his chair during this conversation, and he now 
again broke forth wrathfully : •• 

“ I tell you, he is a scion of the evil one, 
and, if I had the power, I would have him cruci- 
fied to-morrow! If he is left to his evil designs, 
tiie councils of the Sanhedrin will become a 
byw’ord and a scorn.” 

“ You may crucify him if you will,” said 
Gamaliel solemnly, “ but if he is sowing the 
seeds of truth, they will live and bear fruit long 
after he is dead. Truth cannot die. If his works 
are evil, they will come to naught. Why, then, 
need we fear him?” 

“ He shall be crucified !” said Caiaphas, ris- 
ing, his face purple with rage. 

“ So be it,” said Gamaliel, rising with dignity 
and passing from the room. 



MARCUS AND MIRIAM. 


73 


CHAPTER XX. 

What means this eager, anxious throng — 
Which moves with busy haste along, 

These wondrous gatherings day by day — 
What means this great commotion, pray? 

In accents hushed the throng reply, 

“Jesus of Nazareth passeth by.” 

— Emma Campbell. 

A S THE days passed, Jesus, watching from 
the hill upon which Ephraim was situ- 
ated, saw the caravans of pilgrims be- 
ginning to wind down the valley of the Jordan 
on their approach to Jerusalem for the Feast 
of the Passover. At length he said to his dis- 
ciples : 

“ It is time that we, too, were turning our 
faces toward Jerusalem.” 

His disciples had held the secret hope that 
he might finally abandon what to them seemed 
so wild a project as going into such imminent 
peril as his presence in Jerusalem would un- 
doubtedly bring to him. When he had made 
this quiet assertion, they looked at each other 
with troubled eyes, but no one ventured to 
oppose him. 

So the little company left the village that had 
been to them a refuge, and journeyed down 
into the valley, turning their faces likewise 
with the crowd toward Jericho. 

As they passed through old Jericho, the city 
of fountains and fragrance and flowers, and 
as they were entering the new Roman Jericho, 
the city of palaces and trees, the multitudes 
poured forth to meet them, it having become 
known that the prophet of Nazareth was that 
day to pass. Just outside the city, upon a 
little elevation, a few feet only in height, two 
blind men were sitting, and the hurrying crowd 
passed them in all directions. They sat silent 
and listening. A young lad, perhaps eight or 
nine years old, stood near them, looking eagerly 
in the direction from which the caravans ap- 
proached. 

“ Timothy, laddie,” spoke the eldest of the 
men, “what seest thou now, my son? Has 
not the prophet yet appeared?” 

“ No, gran’ther,” said the boy ; “ I see nothing 
but the caravans approaching, and clouds and 
clouds of dust.” 

“ He will not look like other men, Timothy,” 
said the old man ; “ his mien will be stately, 
and his bearing that of a king.” 


“ He cometh not yet, gran’ther,” said the boy, 
gathering up a handful of pebbles with which 
he began to play. Presently the old man spoke 
again : 

“Cometh he not yet, laddie?” 

And the boy looked again eagerly down the 
way, then cried out : 

“ Yes, now he cometh, gran’ther. I see him 
plainly. He is as you have told me, unlike 
the other men. He is a king ! he surely is a 
king !” 

Then the old man cried aloud : 

“ Have mercy upon me ! Jesus, thou son of 
David, have mercy upon me !” 

And his companion, joining with him, again 
they cried with shrill voices : 

“ Have mercy, have mercy upon us, thou son 
of David!” 

The multitude about them, annoyed by their 
persistent outcry, tried to hush them, and said : 

“ Be silent, fellows ! He will not listen to 
such as you. Know you not he cometh as a 
king? Be silent. Hold your peace.” 

But they cried all the more loudly : 

“ Have mercy upon us, Jesus, thou son of 
David !” 

And Timothy, eagerly watching Jesus as he 
approached, cried out : 

“ Oh, gran’ther ! gran’ther ! He beckons for 
thee to come. He surely calls thee to come.” 

And then the people, changing their attitude, 
said to him : 

“ Yes, rise, he calleth to thee ; take courage 
and go to him.” 

And Timothy, leading the two blind men each 
by the hand, advanced toward .Tesus, who had 
stopped by the wayside, awaiting them. When 
they had approached him, he said : 

“ What wouldest thou, Bartimeus, that thou 
callest thus to me?” 

Clasping his hands in entreaty, the old man 
said : 

“ Lord, that I may receive my sight.” 

Jesus looked with compassion upon him, 
and, putting forth his hand, gently touched the 
closed eyelids, saying to him at the same mo- 
ment : 

“ Thy faith hath saved thee. Go in peace.” 

He also touched the lids of the companion of 
Bartimeus, and the sight returned into his hith- 
erto sightless eyes. 

As Bartimeus stood before him with bowed 
head, when the light came again into his eyes 


74 


MARCUS AND MIRIAM. 


he was looking down, and, for the first time, 
saw the face of the young lad who had so faith- 
fully led him over the rough places in their 
daily walk. Dropping upon his knees he clasped 
his arms about him and cried : 

“ Timothy, laddie, he has given me back my 
sight. Worship him ! Worship him !” 

And the young boy, kneeling down, kissed 
again and again the sandaled feet of Jesus. 
Then looking up eagerly into his face he 
cried : 

“ Thou art a king ! Thou art indeed a king !” 

Jesus laid his hand caressingly upon the dark 
head of the boy, and said to him gently : 

“ Timothy,* thou hast led the feet of the 
blind into the smoothest paths by the wayside 
that thou couldest find. In the days to come, 
my son, thou wilt lead many from the darkness 
of sin into the light of God’s love. Be thou 
faithful.” 

And the' boy said earnestly : 

“ Teacher, I will.” 

Then, turning to the two men whose sight 
he had restored, Jesus said : 

“ Ye have come out of the darkness of your 
earthly night ; walk henceforth in the light that 
God shall show you.” 

Then the procession of people, which had 
stopped and surrounded Jesus when he called 
the blind men to him, started again toward 
Jericho, singing and shouting and praising God 
for his great goodness to men. 

And the boy w^alked close beside Jesus. 

o 

CHAPTER XXI. 

“ The Palms,” by J. Faure. 

Translated hy Riiter William Springer.** 

All ’round our w’ay palm branches and bright 
fl owners 

In rich profusion hang, this festal day; 

Jesus draw's near, to dry these tears of ours; 

Already throngs prepare to w'elcome pay. 

All nations sing with one accord. 

With ours your voices blend in adoration. 
Hosanna ! Praise ye the I>ord ! 

Blessed is he who comes bringing salvation ! 

He lifts his voice : the people, at the tone, 

Their liberty, which they had lost, regain ; 
Humanity to each his rights doth owm. 

And light to everyone is given again. 

All nations sing, etc. 


Rejoice, e’en thou, holy Jerusalem ! 

Sing freedom now’ for every child of thine ; 
By his great love, the God from Bethlehem 
Brings them, through faith, the light of hope 
divine. 

All nations sing, etc. 

I T WAS not Jesus’ intention to go at once 
into the city of Jerusalem nor to remain 
there after having reached it, so he turned 
his steps towards Bethany, and w'ent to the 
house that so often had been to him a home of 
comfort and pleasure — the house of Lazarus and 
Mary and Martha. Here he remained for sev- 
eral days preceding Passover Week. But on 
Sunday morning (the day after the .Jewish 
Sabbath, which we now celebrate as Palm Sun- 
day), he said to his disciples: 

“We will go into the city.” 

They started in the early morning, and he 
said to John and Peter : 

“ Go into the village of Bethphage, and in 
a certain street you will see a donkey with her 
young colt tied ; loose them and bring them 
hither. If their master should in anj" w’ay 
oppose you, simply say to him, ‘ The Lord hath 
need of them,’ and he will let them go.” 

They did as he had bidden them, 'and w'hen 
they had come to the place, behold, they found 
it all as Jesus had said, and they took*»the 
donkey and brought her, with her foal, to Jesus. 
And they spread their garments upon the young 
colt, “ upon which never before man had sat,” 
and placed .Jesus thereon. 

The crowds of caravans proceeding to Jerusa- 
lem had now' grow’n very great, and, w'hen the 
people heard that the prophet of Nazareth w'as 
also coming, they pressed forw'ard from the vil- 
lage to see him ; so the caravans behind and 
the crowds that came out to meet him, made an 
immense throng. When they saw Jesus, they 
hailed him as their king, and the people sang 
hosannas ; they cut down branches from the 
palm trees that grew by the wayside and spread 
in his w^ay ; the little children lifted up their 
happy voices and sang, aloud, “Hosanna to 
Jesus, the Son of David, who cometh in the 
name of the Lord.” They gathered the lilies 


♦Not intended to be identified with the friend of Paul. 

**As my mother has inserted this without my knowl- 
edge, and I do not feel at liberty now to withdraw 
it, it should be stated that this translation was made, 
not with the purpose of avoiding previous translations — 
W'hich have sometimes been quite closely followed — but 
in order to more accurately express throughout the 
meaning and spirit of the original. — TR. W. S. 


MARCUS AND MIRIAM. 


75 


and the vvild-flowers that grew in abundance 
by the wayside and spread them before him in 
the road ; they wove garlands and hung them 
about him ; and the air was full of hallelujahs 
and rejoicings, for the king who was coming 
in the name of the Lord. 

^liriam and Marcus had early gone forth to 
meet the pilgrims, knowing well that Jesus 
would be in their midst. When they saw him, 
they pressed through the crowd until they 
reached his side. Miriam, looking up into Jesus’ 
face, said : 

“ Hail, great teacher and beloved king !” 

Jesus looked down with tenderness into her 
uplifted eyes, and said : 

“ Be this a day full of blessings to thee, my 
daughter?” 

She had gathered, as she came along, one 
great, beautiful, white lily, with its long staff- 
like stem, and she now held it towards him and 
said simply : 

” My teacher !” 

He took it from her hand, and, again looking 
down tenderly upon her, held it as a scepter 
as he rode onward. 

The little children still ran, waving their 
branches and crying aloud with glad voices : 

“ Hosanna ! Hosanna to Jesus, who cometh 
as king in the name of the Lord !” 

The priests and scribes, who saw the wor- 
ship that the people offered Jesus, were very 
angry in their hearts, and planned w'hat they 
might do to destroy him. 

Reaching the point in the hillside road that 
overlooks Jerusalem, Jesus stopped, with the 
crowd surrounding him. It was a magnificent 
view, as all travelers who have seen it must 
recognize. The great city, lying upon the oppo- 
site hill, with its domes and pinnacles and the 
white and golden Temple breaking in bewilder- 
ing beauty upon the sight, called forth the 
admiration of every beholder. 

And Jesus, looking down upon it, felt his 
heart torn within him. He knew, with his 
prophetic insight, what evil would befall it. 
He longed to save it' from the destruction that 
he knew awaited it, yet felt he could not, and, 
in the deep anguish of his heart, he cried aloud : 

‘‘If thou hadst known, even thou, at least 
in this thy day, the things which belong unto 
thy peace ! But now they are hid from thine 
eyes. For the days shall come upon thee, that 
thine enemies shall cast a trench about thee 


and compass thee round and keep thee in on 
every side.”* 

Reaching the foot of Mount Moriah, upon 
which the Temple stood, the crowd melted slowly 
away, since processions of pilgrims who were 
travel-worn and dusty were not permitted. 
Ascending to the Temple, he entered by the 
Shushan gate and proceeded at once to the 
Court of the Gentiles, or outer court of the 
Temple, the children still accompanying him, 
shouting their hosannas. Jesus was grieved 
to see this Court of the Gentiles profaned by 
venders of merchandise, and the thousands of 
strangers who had come to Jerusalem buying 
here their offerings for the sacrifice. Herds of 
cattle and sheep trod upon and befouled the 
beautiful tessellated floor of the court, and made 
the hot air still more unbearable by their 
wretched bleating and bellowing. The venders 
of doves grouped their cages about the massive 
pillars that formed the long colonnades, and 
the usurious and greedy money-changers placed 
their tables, covered with coins of different de- 
nominations and nationalities in the most con- 
spicuous places in the thoroughfare, and all 
bartered and sold with as much avaricious greed 


♦The terrible prophecy of the destruction of this 
beautiful city was literally fulfilled * thirty-five years 
later, when Titus with his army bore down upon and 
utterly destroyed it. The prophecy that “ not one 
stone should be left standing upon another,” w’as also 
literally fulfilled. At this day the traveler will find 
in only one or two places the remnants of the massive 
wall that skirted the great city; and the few broken- 
hearted Jews who now inhabit a portion of the city 
assemble on every Friday before these ruins, each 
dressed in the shroud in which he will some time be 
buried, and their voices mingle in pitiful lamentations 
over the destruction of the city that was once their 
pride and glory. One who has recently visited the city 
in its desolation records this scene as one of the most 
pathetic ever beheld. The priest, surrounded by his 
handful of followers, breaks forth into the lamenta- 
tion: 

Priest: “ For the palace which is destroyed,” 

People: ‘‘ We sit down and weep.” 

Priest: “ For the walls which are thrown down,” 

People: “ We sit down and weep.” 

Priest: ‘‘ For the majesty which has departed,” 

People: ‘‘ We sit down and weep.” 

Priest: “ For the great men w'ho lie dead.” 

People: “ We sit down and weep.” 

Priest: “ For the precious stones that are burned.” 

People: “ We sit down and weep.” 

Priest: ” For our priests who have stumbled,” 

People: “ We sit down and weep.” 

Priest: “ For our kings who have despised him,” 

People: ” We sit down and weep.” 

Priest: ” We beseech thee, 0 Lord, have mercy upon 

US, * * 

People: “ Gather thou the children of Jerusalem.” 

Priest: ” Make haste, 0 Redeemer of Zion,” 

People: ‘‘ Speak to the heart of Jerusalem.” 

Priest: “ Let beauty and majesty surround Zion.” 

People: ” Turn thy mercy unto Jerusalem.” 

Priest: ‘‘ Let the kingdom soon return to Zion.” 

People: ‘‘ And let the Branch spring forth at 

Jerusalem.” 


76 


MARCUS AND MIRIAM. 


as they would have done in their shops and 
offices elsewhere. Jesus looked upon the re- 
volting scene with righteous indignation, and 
the men shrank before his angry glance. 

Then they brought to him many who were 
sick, and he healed them, and he taught the 
multitude, as they crowded about him, the won- 
derful doctrine of the New Covenant, and 
many believed on him because of his gracious 
words and manner. The children thronged 
about him, continuing their songs of praise, 
and chanted with their glad young voices : 

“ Hosanna ! Hosanna ! Hosanna to our King ! 

Oh, earth be glad ! Oh, isles rejoice ! Oh, 
courts of heaven ring ! 

For he cometh in the name of the Lord, 
For he healeth by the power of his word. 

Of David’s line, of birth divine ! 

Oh, earth, receive thy King ! 

Hosanna ! Hosanna ! in the highest, sing ! 

Hosanna ! to the Son of David : Priest and 
King!” 

The chief priests and scribes and elders, 
watching from a distance, chafed and raged and 
longed to arrest him, but dared not do so, for 
they feared the people would rise against them. 

“ He is a sorcerer ; he hath bewitched them 
all !” they cried. And at last, unable longer 
to keep quiet, and hoping that perchance they 
might find something in his reply with which 
to condemn him, they approached him with the 
question : 

‘‘ Hearest thou what these say?” 

Jesus answered them : 

“ Have ye never read, ‘ Out of the mouths of 
babes thou hast perfected praise’?” — and they 
could answer nothing. 

Two days later, in his terrible denunciation 
in the Temple, on the last day of his public 
ministry there, he again broke forth into lamen- 
tations, and thus apostrophized Jerusalem : 

“ Oh, Jerusalem, Jerusalem, thou that killest 
the prophets and stonest them which are sent 
unto thee, how often would I have gathered 
thy children together, even as a hen gathereth 
her chickens under her wings, and ye would 
not ! Behold, your house is left unto you deso- 
late !” 

He had come to Jerusalem her king, and her 
inhabitants had met him with stoning and abuse. 
He had come to her to be crowned as her law- 
ful sovereign, and already the gnarled wood 
had been hewn that should be made into the 


cross upon which he would be crucified. 

On the day after his triumphant entry into 
Jerusalem, Jesus again entered the Temple 
court. He looked with still stronger indigna- 
tion upon the desecration of that sacred place 
by the sellers and money-changers, who had 
braved his warning glances of the day before. 
Then he turned upon them and drove them out, 
men and cattle alike. He bade the venders of 
doves at once remove their cages, and upset the 
tables of the money-changers, sending their scat- 
tered coin rolling in every direction amid the 
filth of the floor. 

“ It is written : ‘ My house shall be called a 
house of prayer,’ but you have made it a den 
of thieves,” he said to them in his indignant 
majesty. 

They remembered how he had previously 
driven them forth, and now they all fled before 
him in affright and consternation. After his 
one invective, he stood in silent dignity and 
watched the wild scene of confusion and flight. 
Even the money-changers for once forgot their 
greed of gain and fled, not even stopping to 
collect their widely scattered coins. 

• • • • • • 

Marcus and Miriam, hurrying forward, had 
reached the outer court of the temple just as 
Jesus raised the scourge to drive forth the 
money-changers, and, standing apart from the 
crowd, had witnessed the impressive scene. 

“ If I had no other proof of his divinity than 
this,” said Marcus, in awe, ‘‘ I should know him 
to be divine. Think of a great crowd like that 
fleeing in terror from one man ! And it is the 
second time it has occurred. Do you not re- 
member, he drove all forth in the same way 
the first year of his ministry, while yet he was 
scarcely known as a prophet? Under ordinary 
circumstances one strong man could have over- 
powered him, yet with his single arm uplifted 
against thousands, all fled before him ! What 
but divine power could have produced such a 
result?” 

“ Oh, he is the very Christ — the Holy One of 
God! Who can doubt it?” said Miriam, a great 
pride and joy swelling her heart and shining in 
her eyes. “ But see, Marcus, the woman try- 
ing to save her little child !” 

“ Oh, I must touch him, Marcus — the blessed 
Christ !” said Miriam, with clasped hands, as 
Jesus turned away. 


MARCUS AND MIRIAM. 


77 


He heard her voice — ever was he quick to hear 
the voice of love — and stayed, for an instant, his 
rapid steps to turn his tender eyes upon her 
and take her outstretched hand within his own. 

“ Wilt thou not come to us when the day 
is done, my teacher?” urged Miriam, softly. 
“ Our home is always thine, thou knowest well.” 

“ I know it well, indeed, my daughter, but I 
must return to Bethany to-night.” Then not- 
ing the disappointment in her face, he said, 
“ Why cannot thou and Marcus accompany 
me this night to Bethany? Thou knowest how 
welcome you both will be at the house of your 
cousins, Mary and Martha. Will you not go?” 

Miriam’s face brightened with joy. 

” May we, oh, may we indeed accompany 
thee?” Then turning to her husband she said, 
“Marcus, thinkest thou that we may go?” 

“ I am sure, my Miriam, that we may go 
wherever the great teacher will have us.” 

“Then,” said Jesus, “if you will meet me 
here toward the hour of sunset, we will take 
that walk together.” 

So it came to pass that at the sunset hour, 
Jesus, accompanied by Marcus and Miriam, 
returned to Bethany, where a warm welcome 
awaited each of them. 

That walk over the sides of Mount Olivet 
was one that lived forever in the memory 
of Miriam and Marcus. Jesus, in his heart, 
had determined that only joy and pleasure 
should be given them that last hour they were 
to spend together alone. No reference what- 
ever was made to the trial that lay before him, 
nor to the trying scenes through which he 
that day had passed. But he seemed to think 
of everything beautiful and comforting of which 
he could speak to them. As they passed along, 
he pointed out the beautiful scenery that lay 
beneath them, and though their eyes rested 
upon the Garden of Gethsemane — which lay at 
their feet at one point in the road — where he 
knew that before many another night should pass, 
his terrible agony must be suffered, , yet he only 
pointed out to them the beauties of the place, 
and looked across the valley to the shining 
walls of the temple. 

With Miriam, he gathered clusters of flowers, 
which were growing along the wayside, that 
they might carry them to Martha for the adorn- 
ment of her house, and he called the attention 
of Marcus and Miriam to the beautiful colors 
and tints of the different plants they gathered. 


Then, as the stars began to look forth one 
by one from the blue heavens above, he spoke 
of the wonders of the heavenly world, and told 
of the glories that there lay hidden, unseen by 
mortal eyes. He dwelt upon the goodness of the 
Father in so clothing the world that it was full 
of beauty for his children, and, with half a 
sigh, regretted that they did not better appreci- 
ate his love. 

Miriam was, by distant ties, related to the 
two sisters, Mary and Martha, and a warm 
friendship existed between them ; hence she was 
sure of a welcome, go when she would. To 
Jesus it was always a second home, where he 
found the rest and quiet that awaited him no- 
where else. 

After the evening repast was over, they all 
ascended to the roof together, and, in the silver 
paschal moonlight, held sweet converse of the 
years that had passed, and of the days that 
were to come. Jesus spoke very plainly to 
them of his approaching departure, and, while 
their hearts were wrung with anguish, they yet 
were uplifted by the sense of his unmistakable 
divinity. The little group gathered about him 
was pathetic. He sat in their midst, with 
Martha upon his right hand and Marcus and 
Peter and James surrounding him, while Miriam 
and Mary, with their arms intertwined, sat at 
his feet, the golden head resting upon the 
darker one and the earnest, loving faces up- 
turned to his in adoration. They had talked 
much of the days that were near at hand, 
and the tears were slowly trickling over the 
cheeks of the two young women seated at his 
feet, when Mary said: 

“ Why is it necessary that thou shouldest 
go to Jerusalem at all? Is not the world wide 
enough, is there not enough for thee to do 
elsewhere, without exposing thyself to this ter- 
rible calamity that awaits thee there?” 

“ Miriam, my daughter,” said Jesus, “ canst 
thou tell aught that I have said to thee as we 
sat in the starlight on thy father’s roof?” 

“ Yes,” said Miriam, the light springing into 
her dark eyes, “ thou didst tell us of the 
Father’s kingdom and of the ‘ house of many 
mansions ’ that stood in the midst of his king- 
dom. And thou didst tell us that it was neces- 
sary that thou shouldest go, in order to prepare 
a home for each of us there, and that thou 
wouldest return, at some future time, and take 
us to share it with thee.” 


78 


MARCUS AND MIRIAM. 


“ Yes,” said Jesus, ‘‘ thou art right, my daugh- 
ter. And what said I of the length of time 
that must elapse before I should see thee again 
after having laid down my life?” 

‘‘ Three days,” said Miriam, her fair face 
growing very white as she still looked upward 
into the beloved face. “ Three days, thou hast 
said, would elapse before thou shouldest re- 
turn.* But can it be? I cannot but believe 
every word that thou hast spoken, yet, though 
I know that in the resurrection thou shalt 
rise again, I cannot quite grasp the truth that 
thou wilt come to us again after three days.” 

‘‘ Thou must believe it, Miriam,” said Jesus, 
tenderly, “ for therein lies the strength that 
must sustain thee in the days so near at 
hand. On this third day comfort will come to 
thee and will abide ; and thou must hold this 
knowledge fast within thy heart, if thou would- 
est be victorious for me over pain and death.” 

So he comforted them during the hours they 
sat together, and when at last he left them 
(for he did not sleep wuthin the little house 
at Bethany, but went apart with his disciples), 
in spite of all the agonizing thoughts of the 
sorrow just in store for them, their hearts were 
comforted, and more than ever they believed 
he was the true Messiah for w’hom they had 
all watched and waited. 

0 

CHAPTER XXII. 

Gethsemane ! Gethsemane ! 

My heart in sadness turns to thee. 

I hear the moans, the anguished prayer 
Borne upward on the still night air ; 

I feel the dreadful agony 
Preceding that on Calvary, 

Where Jesus died for you — for me ! 

. Gethsemane ! Gethsemane ! 

— 7 ^. R. 8. 

T he same day that Jesus purified the 
temple he taught there openly. The 
scribes and Pharisees and all the mem- 
bers of the Sanhedrin, especially enraged by 
his defiance of them, came to him with per- 
plexing and insulting questions, and strove by 
every possible means to thwart and trouble 
him, but on every occasion they were confused 
and overthrown. 


♦Matt. 20: 19. 


On this last day of his public appearance in 
the temple, which was on Tuesday of Passover 
Week, the taunts and threats of the scribes and 
even of members of the Sanhedrin that crowded 
around him to annoy and perplex, seemed to 
fill the cup of his righteous indignation to over- 
flowing, and he turned upon them with that 
scathing and terrible denunciation that St. 
Matthew has recorded.* They chafed beneath 
his burning words, and, had they dared, they 
would have sacrificed him that moment, even 
within the holy walls of the temple ; but they 
feared the people, and they felt that the time 
was approaching when he could no longer escape 
them. That very night they held the council 
that doomed him to an ignominious and almost 
immediate death. It is not to be wondered at 
that the Sanhedrin were afraid of the teachings 
of Jesus. His life must pay the forfeit.** 

Jesus knew that henceforth the gates of the 
temple were closed to him, that he had spoken 
the last words he ever would speak within the 
walls of his Father’s house, and his heart was 
very heavy within him. 

His disciples, strange as it may seem, did not, 
apparently, understand the situation. They 
could not realize that he whom they regtfi’ded 
as the real Messiah could suffer the ignominious 
death of which he told them. For some reason 
their senses seemed to be blunted, and the con- 
solation they might have given him at times 
was, for that reason, withheld. To Jesus’ 
human sensibilities, this must have added 
- deeply to his trial, but he looked upon it all 
with the divine compassion of his nature, and 
‘ condemned them not. 

On Wednesday of that week we have no 
record of the whereabouts of Jesus ; not even the 
inmates of the house at Bethany caught sight 
of his beloved face, and his disciples do not 
seem to have been with him. Doubtless he 
spent those last hours alone with the Father 
in some secluded spot. But, when the twilight 
was falling^ on Thursday evening, he suddenly 
appeared to Mary and Martha and held a few 
moments’ comforting converse with them, and 
between him and Lazarus, so well beloved, there 
was an interview, the memory of which re- 


♦Matt. 23. 

**Their chief motive (John 11: 48) was a fear that 
Jesus would start another unsuccessful insurrection, and 
thus bring them further disaster. They understood 
neither his motives, methods nor power. — [R. W. S. 


MARCUS AND MIRIAM. 79 


mamed with Lazarus during all the remaining 
years of his life. Then, with his disciples, he 
started for his last walk over the pleasant road 
that led across Olivet to Jerusalem. He saw 
Gethsemane at his feet, and also dimly saw 
Calvary lying across the valley. But no word 
of lamentation broke from him now. Silently, 
and with a certain kingly dignity that he never 
seemed to have worn before with all of his 
divinity, he passed on, and his disciples, rec- 
ognizing the sublimity of his mien, walked a 
little distance behind him. The silent majesty 
of his demeanor seemed to forbid familiar inter- 
course, and so they talked in whispers and left 
him to the solitude of his own thoughts upon 
this journey. 

It seems strange that no record is made of 
his having been met by any of his enemies or 
friends on this last evening, but the city was 
approached in silence, and, by a quiet street, 
they reached the house wherein the upper cham- 
ber lay where their last supper would be cele- 
brated. 

After reaching Jerusalem they went in a 
group directly to the quiet house at the head 
of the narrow street. They were silently ad- 
mitted by Marcus, and proceeded directly to the 
upper room. 

Jesus was the last to enter. The “goodman 
of the house ” had excluded his servants from 
the front entrance, that a greater privacy might 
be secured for Jesus. Marcus stood just within 
the gate, that no intrusions might occur, and 
his father stood at the foot of the outside stair- 
way that led to the upper room, so as to make 
it impossible for any to enter there without 
his knowledge. 

In talking with Marcus some hours before, 
his father said : 

“ There is something in the air that I do 
not like and cannot understand. All day long 
a strange hush seems to have fallen upon the 
city. Men stand apart in groups and talk, yet 
more than once, when I have approached them, 
they have suddenly separated and gone their 
ways, as though they were talking of that 
which they would not have me hear. If I 
knew the meaning of fear, I would say it had 
taken strange possession of my heart. I wish 
the night were past and the morning here.” 

And Marcus had answered him : 

” I understand thee well, my father. That 
same mysterious dread has compassed me the 


entire day. There is something evil brooding 
in the air. Miriam feels it as much as we. 
She tossed upon her bed and moaned in her 
restless sleep last night, or started up, crying, 
‘ Marcus, they have taken him !’ And what 
can I say to comfort her? Only this: we 
know, my father, the power is within him to 
avert all evil, and, if he permits it, there is 
surely a reason beyond our comprehension why 
it should be. This is my only comfort.” 

His father sighed heavily, as he said : 

“ Yes, it is our only hope, but, since he is 
divine, why may he not thwart the plans of 
these evil men, and at least save himself from 
a cruel death?” 

When Jesus entered the house and saw Mar- 
cus standing alone wdthin the entrance, he 
paused an instant, and, taking the hands of 
the young man within his own, he looked down 
into the depths of the uplifted eyes and said, 
with visible emotion : 

” John Mark, be thou faithful to the end, and 
thy reward awaits thee. God fill thy heart with 
peace.” 

Then, bending over, he kissed him on both 
cheeks, and, turning, approached the stairway. 
Here he confronted the man so long and secretly 
his friend. He placed a hand upon either 
shoulder, and, looking into his eyes with the 
same earnest look with which he had regarded 
Marcus, he whispered : 

” Faithful and true ! Faithful and true ! 
David, beloved friend, thy room in my Father’s 
house of many mansions is ready and will await 
thy coming. I shall soon greet thee there.” 

Then he embraced him, and, turning, he went 
to the ever-hallowed “ upper room ” and closed 
the door behind him. 

How our hearts thrill, after all these ages, 
at the mention of that sacred “ upper room ” ! 
How we long to know what passed behind the 
closed doors, after Jesus and his disciples had 
entered therein ! But mystery and sorrowful 
surmisings surround it. ‘Only through the 
Evangelists are we certain of a few of the 
events that transpired there that night. 

We know that Judas, the traitor, crept from 
the room with a curse upon his life. We know, 
too, that at the close of that memorable supper, 
the last that Jesus was ever to eat with his 
disciples upon earth, he took bread, blessed 
and brake it, and passed it to each of them 
in turn, saying : 


80 


MARCUS AND MIRIAM. 


“ Eat ; this is my body that was broken for 
you.” 

And that, likewise, he took the cup and gave 
it to his disciples, saying : 

“ Drink all ye of this ; it is my blood of the 
new testament, which is shed for you and for 
many, for the removal of sins.” 

Thus was instituted the blessed sacrament, 
which, down to this time, is still held in such 

reverence by all who are his disciples. 

We know, too, that on that blessed night he 
gave to them, and through them unto us, the 
new commandment, ” Love ye one another, even 
as I have loved you.” Not with the ordinary 
love men bear to one another, but with the 
deep, divine love that he, as their teacher, 

bore for them. It was the New Covenant that 
has come down to us, changing our lives from 
human to divine. 

“ Even as I have loved you, love ye one 

another.” 

Ah ! if we kept this command to its fullfill- 
ment, what a changed world this would be in 
which we live ! 

The evening so eventful to this little band 
of his disciples was drawing to a close, and 
Jesus, arising from his seat at the table, said : 

“ We will sing a hymn before we part.” 

We may imagine that, among others, they 
then together sang the beautiful Psalm of Da- 
vid : 

‘‘ The Lord is my shepherd ; I shall not want. 

“ He maketh me to lie down in green pas- 
tures : he leadeth me beside the still w^aters. 

‘‘ He restoreth my soul : he leadeth me in the 
paths of righteousness for his name’s sake. 

” Yea, though I walk through the valley of 
the shadow of death, I will fear no evil : for 
thou art with me ; thy rod and thy staff, they 
comfort me. 

” Thou preparest a table before me in the 
presence of mine enemies ; thou anointest my 
head with oil ; my cup runneth over. 

” Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me 
all the days of iny life : and I will dwell in the 
house of the Lord for ever.” 

And Jesus knew, though his disciples did not 
fully realize it, that it was through this ” valley 
of the shadow ” that he was now to walk ; but 
he was equally sure that the great Shepherd 
would be with him and make even his agonized 
journey to lie through green valleys and beside 
still waters. 


Then they went forth quietly, Peter and 
James and John keeping especially near the 
Master. .Down through the quiet streets they 
passed, for the hour was now growing late, 
and a strange hush seemed to rest upon the 
entire city. Crossing the brook Kedron, they 
went into the Garden of Gethsemane. It was 
there that they had often spent the nights 
together in holy converse, or in restful sleep, 
but now a strange awe seemed to hold the dis- 
ciples, so that they had no questions to ask 
and no remarks to make to their beloved teacher. 
He seemed, this night, apart from them ; a veil 
had fallen between their faces and his, which 
they could not penetrate. When they paused 
beneath one of the great olive trees for which 
the garden was noted, Jesus said : 

“ Sit ye here while I go yonder and pray.” 

He went apart into a secluded place, taking 
with him only Peter and James and John. 
Here he said to them : 

“ My soul is exceeding sorrowful, even unto 
death ; abide ye here and watch, while I go a 
little further.” ^ 

Jesus went about a stone’s throw beyond 
them and knelt down and prayed, “ Father, 
all things are possible to thee : if thou be**will- 
ing, let this affliction pass from me. Still, not 
what I wish, but wfflat thou hast planned.” 
Then there appeared* to him an angel from 
heaven, strengthening him. Jesus, being in 
still greater agony, prayed even more earnestly, 
and his sweat became as it were great drops 
of blood, falling down upon the ground. 

Presently he arose from prayer and came back 
to the three disciples, and found them sleeping. 
Jesus said to Peter : ‘‘ Simon ! thou asleep ! 
Couldest thou not watch with me, even one 
hour? Rouse thee and pray, that thou mayest 
not again yield to temptation ; thou art willing 
enough, but tired in body,” 

Again Jesus went away and prayed, ‘‘ Oh, 
my Father ! if I must undergo this, thy will be 
done.” 

Once more Jesus returned and again found 
the three sleeping, for their eyes were heavy. 
When he awoke them, they could give him no 
excuse for their neglect. 

Then Jesus left them the third time and 
prayed again, as he had prayed the second time. 

The third time he returned to the three dis- 
ciples and said to them, “ Are you sleeping on, 
then, and taking your rest? The time is past; 



He turned and struygled with his captor. 


81 









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MARCUS ANV MIRIAM. 


83 


the hour is come when the Son of man is to 
be betrayed into the hands of sinners. Arise, 
let us be going. See ! the betrayer is coming !” 

In the meantime the house in the narrow 
street, in which the upper room lay, was quite 
deserted. The lights were put out, the doors 
W’ere fastened, and the inmates, worn out with 
the heat and anxieties of the day, had laid 
them down for a brief repose. Miriam tossed 
restlessly upon her couch, her mind filled with 
strange and terrible forebodings. The night 
was warm and sultry, even for that time and 
climate, and Marcus had removed his under- 
garment and lain down with only the linen 
sheet about him. Like Miriam, he, too, was 
very restless, and sleep refused to close his eyes. 
Suddenly, an indistinct murmur aroused him 
from partial insensibility, and, at the same 
instant, Miriam, wrapped only in a loose night- 
robe, rushed into his room, crying : 

“ Marcus ! Marcus ! The house is surrounded 
by a crowd of evil men, and they are clamoring 
for thee to open the door ! What can they seek ? 
Not Jesus, oh, not Jesus !” 

Marcus gathered the linen sheet about him, 
and, with a passing word of comfort and cour- 
age to Miriam, he ran to the window, to see, 
indeed, a crowd of men, many of whom in 
the moonlight he recognized as the most violent 
opposers of Jesus, turning away from the house, 
as they seemed to be convinced the object of 
their search was not within. 

“ Oh !” said Marcus, “ they are seeking Jesus 
to destroy him ! I must give him warning.” 

And Miriam cried out : 

“ Wait not for anything ! Go at once !” 

Marcus hastily slipped his feet into his san- 
dals, and, forgetting to put on his inner gar- 
ment, whispered hurriedly to Miriam : 

“ Be strong, be strong, my wife ; I will fol- 
low them stealthily until I see where they are 
going. If I find they are really seeking Jesus, 
I will manage to elude them and reach him first, 
so as to give him warning of their approach.” 

Keeping closely in the shadows of the houses, 
he followed the crowd cautiously, until he saw 
that their steps were bending toward Geth- 
semane. Then, by a quieter but somewhat 
longer route, he hastened thither, always well 
concealed, that none might intercept him on the 
way. lie reached the garden too late ; the 


crowd was returning, with Jesus bound in their 
midst. Marcus slipped nimbly among them, 
and, catching Jesus eagerly by the arm, he cried 
to him in an earnest whisper : 

“ Oh, flee, my Master, while there is yet 
time ! Use thy divine power ! I implore thee ! 
I implore thee, flee while there is yet time !” 

But Jesus, looking upon him with compassion, 
whispered in return : * 

“It must be thus; the hour indeed has come. 
Leave me, for the sake of Miriam and the work 
for me thou hast to do.” 

Marcus was by this time observed. One rude 
fellow caught him by his garment to detain 
him, crying : 

“ This fellow is one of them^ for I have often 
seen him with Jesus.” 

Jesus again said to Marcus, “ Go !” 

Knowing that, alas ! he could be of no bene- 
fit to the teacher he so loved, he turned, strug- 
gled with his captor, and finally, leaving his 
clothing in the hands of the man who had 
sought to detain him, he escaped, hid amid the 
dense shadows of the trees, and then, broken- 
hearted, crept back the way he had come to 
his father’s house.* 

o 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

There is a green hill far away 
Without the city wall. 

Where the dear Lord was crucified. 

Who died to save us all. 

There was no other good enough 
To pay the price of sin : 

He only could unlock the gate 
Of heaven, and let us in. 

^ — C. F. Alexander. 

T he events of Jesus’ arrest, betrayal and 
trial have been too vividly recorded by 
the Evangelist to require repetition. From 
the court of the Sanhedrin to the palace of Pilate, 
we all know how he was hurried. We know 
that, but for Pilate’s weakness, he would have 
been acquitted, for Pilate said to the multi- 
tude, “ I find no fault in this man.” 

Of the insult, the outrage, the cruelty, in- 


*The above hypothetical reconstruction of the adven- 
ture of this “ Young man with the linen sheet ” (Mark 
14: 51, 52), taken together with the fact that St. Mark 
is the only chronicler of the event, offers quite strong 
proof that he was himself the hero of the adventure. — 
[R. W. S. 


84 


MARCUS AND MIRIAM. 


flicted that day upon our Lord, we forbear to 
speak, for, through the centuries down to the 
present hour, the memory of them brings the 
hot blood of indignation to the heart and the 
tear of anguished sorrow to the eyes. Second 
only to his love for his followers is the love 
they carry for him, from generation to genera- 
tion, within their hearts. 

After the insult and ignominy of his mock 
trials, the boisterous procession started on its 
way to Calvary. 

He who had come to Jerusalem a king, now 
bore upon his shoulders the cross hewn from the 
gnarled wood, and staggered along the dusty 
road beneath its weight. 

The day was oppressively hot and the roads 
were dusty and unclean, as were always the 
narrow streets of this great city. The crowd 
surged and thronged about him, but, even in 
his agony, he was silent and godlike, as he 
struggled on beneath the weight of the heavy 
cross. 

Miriam and Marcus had started out early, 
for Miriam had said to her husband, “ Do not 
deny me the privilege of being near him in 
these last hours.” And Marcus had reluctantly 
consented. 

Now, through the dusty streets, she managed 
to keep but a little distance from Jesus in his 
toilsome ascent to Calvary. 

The road became steeper and more stony, 
and the weight of the cross more and more 
insupportable. At length the human strength 
of Jesus 'yielded, and he sank, fainting, be- 
neath its weight. His fall caused a short stop 
in the forward movement of the procession. 
Miriam, seizing her opportunity, darted for- 
ward, and, reaching the side of Jesus, she drew 
her kerchief from her bosom, and, bending over, 
wiped the perspiration from his white face.* 

His falling had created a commotion among 
the guard. They saw he could not reach the 
place of crucifixion beneath his grievous bur- 
den, and, seizing hold of a young countryman 
who was walking near, they laid the cross upon 
his shoulders, and he bore it to the end. 

The summit of the little hill was reached ; 
the three holes in which the three crosses were 
to be placed had already been dug. The soldiers 
ordered back the crowd and formed a circle 

♦Tradition ascribes this act to a woman named 
Veronica, and asserts that the image of Jesus’ face 
was miraculously fixed on the cloth. — [R. W. S, 


about the prisoners, and each man was stretched 
upon his cross ready for execution. 

When Miriam saw her beloved teacher 
stretched thus upon his cross, her already white 
face showed such deathly pallor and she leaned 
so heavily upon her husband that he feared her 
strength would entirely desert her. He drew 
her gently as far from the circle as she would 
permit him to do, and, supporting her with 
his left arm, he pressed her head against his 
breast and covered her ear w’ith his palm, to 
deaden, if possible, the sounds of the hammer, 
as the cruel nails entered the flesh. 

The two thieves, amid piercing shrieks and 
groans, were first fastened to their separate 
crosses, and these were then set up in their 
respective places. Then came the terrible ordeal, 
when Jesus, too, must suffer. 

It was then that Marcus, looking with strained 
eyes upon the beloved Christ, as they stretched 
his prostrate form upon the cross, saw the 
pallid lips part and heard the faint prayer : 

“ Father, forgive them; for they know not 
what they do.” 

Was ever love or forgiveness such as this ! 

At the first stroke of the dreaded hammer, 
Miriam trembled and shrank, until her hij^and 
feared even for her reason. She struggled 
bravely, her face like death itself, the dark 
circles beneath her eyes extending even down 
upon her pallid cheeks, and, when she heard 
no moan, no cry from the white lips of Jesus, 
S'he felt she must be brave, and, for his sake, 
bear silently this anguish. 

Near the cross, after it was erected, stood a 
few women with pallid faces and broken hearts. 
Among them, Jesus recognized the beloved face 
that had smiled upon him first in his divine 
childhood. He sawr upon her face the agony 
from which he would fain have saved her, if 
he might. He looked down upon her with love 
in his dying eyes and whispered : 

*' Mother, John will be thy son.” 

Turning his gaze upon his beloved disciple, 
he said : 

“ Behold thy mother.” 

And the tender arm of John immediately sup- 
ported her, and, from that hour, he took the 
place assigned him by his dying Master. 

About noon a dark pall seemed to envelope 
the sun, and an inky blackness settled down 
over all the land ; the air grew cold and clammy, 
and, above all, a terrible hush and a sense of 


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MARCUS AND MIRIAM. 


87 


foreboding came upon the people. More and 
more oppressive became the awful sense of 
horror. The nerves were strained to the utmost, 
as if preparing for some terrible crash. About 
three o’clock Aurelius, of the household of Caia- 
phas, mounted upon his horse, rode up as near 
the foot of the cross as the guard w^ould per- 
mit him to come. He held in his hand an up- 
lifted spear, with which he strove to smite the 
dying Christ, and tauntingly he cried : 

“ Thou who savest others, save now thyself ; 
come down from the cross and show to us thou 
art divine.” 

Only his form could dimly be seen in the 
darkness, but his rasping voice smote all ears 
with a tone of demoniac triumph. 

Marcus thought : “ Hell is rejoicing.” And 
then, “ Will Jesus answ’er this taunt? What 
triumphant message will he fling back?” . 

There was a moment’s awful hush. Then from 
the cross, in tones low, pleading, indescribably 
pathetic, came the words, “ My God ! my God ! 
Why hast thou forsaken me?” 

Would God reply? Jesus had referred 
Aurelius’ taunt to Him who had said, “ Judg- 
ment is mine ; I will repay.” The suspense 
at last became unbearable, and Marcus whis- 
pered, half aloud, “ God must answer, or there 
is no God !” 

“ Hush !” said Miriam, “ it is the Psalm, ‘ The 
Hind of the Morning.’ It goes on to say :* 
■* He hath not despised nor abhorred the afflic- 
tion of the afflicted ; neither hath he hid his face 
from him ; but when he cried unto him, he 
heard.’ ” 

Again they were waiting to see what would 
happen. The Roman soldiers, mistaking the 
Hebrew words, thought Jesus had called for 
Elijah. 

Presently, through death-parching lips, “ I 
thirst.” 

What pity moved the Roman soldier to run 
to the wine jar, wet a sponge with the sour wine, 
and, putting this on the end of a stick, hold 
it to the Savior’s lips? Even then the others 
cried out, “ Don’t ! Wait and see if Elijah 
■comes to help him.” 

The Savior drank. The soldier stood back 
with the sponge-rod in his hand. The others 
were still in the same attitude as when they 
spoke. Aurelius seemed frozen in his attitude 


♦Ps. 22: 24. 


of defiance. All could now be plainly seen, 
for a strange light hung over the cross of Jesus 
and seemed to shine from all about him, throw- 
ing dark shadows from the other two crosses 
and from the groups of waiting people. 

Suddenly Jesus raised his head. His eyes 
were gazing out into the other world. He drew 
himself up, as for a mighty effort, and uttered 
a shout of triumph : ‘‘ Finished !” 

Then, with the same breath, those who vrere 
near heard him say, his gaze still upward : 

“ Father, into thy hands I commit my spir- 
it.” 

A convulsive shudder. Then his head sank 
upon his breast, the limbs relaxed, the light 
about the cross quickly faded away, until all 
was the most intense blackness. The Son of 
God was dead ! 

Crash ! The earth is rocking and cracking. 
A thunderbolt falls, striking the distant temple 
and rending in two the curtain before the Holy 
of Holies. Great crevices open in the earth. 
Graves are torn open and dead bodies from them 
are scattered all about. 

The horse of Aurelius, rearing and plunging 
with affright, fell headlong into one of these 
chasms, and Marcus and Miriam, who saw 
through the gloom the upturned purple face of 
the man lying with broken neck beneath the 
weight of his dead charger, remembered it was 
he who had reviled and desecrated the dying 
Son of God, and in their hearts they felt that 
upon one, at least, of his revilers sure and 
swift vengeance had come. 

The people fell upon their faces, or fled in 
terror and affright down the mountain into 
the city, and soon only the Roman guard, with 
a few of those who loved Jesus best, were left 
in the midst of the terrible scene. Miriam hid 
her face in the bosom of her husband, as they 
still knelt before the cross. 

The work of redemption was indeed “ fin- 
ished.” Life and light and love had triumphed 
over sin and darkness and death. 

Oh, what a life, what a death, was his ! 
When his executioners drove through the quiver- 
ing flesh the cruel nails that fastened him to 
the cross, he only prayed, “ Father, forgive 
them, for they know not w’hat they do.” And 
when, in the midst of his terrible agony and 
suffering, the voice of the penitent thief fell 
on his ear, his compassionate heart, still alive 


88 


MARCUS AND MIRIAM. 


to the grief of others, responded to the cry and 
spoke peace and pardon to the wretched soul. 

Marcus and Miriam remained long in medi- 
tative silence. The darkness about them grad- 
ually lifted a little, and they could see the three 
dark crosses and hear the groans of the dying 
thieves. But the figure upon the central cross 
was still in death. After quite a while a squad 
of soldiers came up, were admitted by the guard, 
and immediately fell upon one of the crucified 
thieves and beat him to death with clubs. Then 
they went to the other, who had been shrieking 
for mercy, and served him in like manner. 
When they came to the body of Jesus, Miriam 
again hid her face on her husband’s breast and 
sobbed aloud. But the soldiers seemed in 
doubt. One of them said, “ Nothing to do here ; 
he is dead already.” “ Impossible !” said an- 
other. One who was mounted and seemed to 
be in command of this party, thrust his spear 
into Jesus’ side. All waited to observe the 
result; then the spearman said, ‘‘He is dead; 
come away !” And they departed. 

Miriam had sunk to the earth, and Marcus 
knelt beside her, holding her head against his 
breast. A long time they waited thus, while 
many others silently withdrew. 

At last Marcus, bending low over Miriam, 
whispered, ‘‘ Dearest wife, the agony is over ; 
he is at rest. Come with me, beloved ; before 
the day is 'done let us return. He is not here; 
we can no longer comfort him.” 

With a last lingering look at the face of her 
beloved teacher, Miriam permitted herself to 
be led away by her husband to their home. 
For greater privacy, they passed around the 
city to the westward, intending to enter by a 
gate near their own home. As they turned 
southward, they looked back to the place where 
they had left him. The gloom was lifting, and 
the dark clouds were now turning to billowy 
masses of purple and gold. Against these, in 
distinct outline, arose the figures of the three 
crosses, illumined by a burst of sunlight from 
the late afternoon sun. Above them, spanning 
the entire summit of Calvary, thrown upon the 
still dark clouds behind was a rainbow — the 
most beautiful they had ever seen. For some 
moments they stood in rapt contemplation, 
while God was speaking to their hearts. Then 
Miriam, with clasped hands and a look almost 
of inspiration, said to her husband : 

‘‘ Oh, Marcus ! It is the ‘ bow of promise ’ ! 


It is a sign for us — for us alone. He is the 
Son of God ! More than ever, now I know he 
is the Son of God. In spite of the deep an- 
guish and sorrow of this crushing hour, there 
stirs within my heart an almost divine joy, 
which tells me that, somehow, he is the Son of 
God.” 

And Marcus said : 

“ Yes, dear wife, he is, somehow, the Son 
of God.” 


Upon a cross my Savior died. 

Behold his wounded hands and side ! 

He died for you, he died for me. 

In that dark hour, on Calvary, 

Upon a cross. 

Upon a cross, he bowed his head. 

Pierced by the cruel thorns, and said : 

‘‘ Forgive — they know not what they do !”■ 
This prayer he made for me, for you, 
Upon a cross. 

Upon a cross, his life he gave, 

A lost and ruined world to save. 

Think, when you at its feet bow down, 
He won his kingdom and his crown 
Upon a cross. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

Lift your glad voices in triumph on high. 

For Jesus hath risen and man shall not die. 
Vain were the terrors that gathered around him. 
And short the dominion of death and the grave ; 
He burst from the fetters of darkness that 
bound him. 

Resplendent in glory to love and to save. 

Loud was the chorus of angels on high. 

The Savior hath risen and man shall not die. 

— Henry Ware, Jr. 

N either Marcus nor Miriam could ever 
remember anything about that Sabbath 
Saturday, the day after the crucifixion. 
They were in a kind of mental stupor all day. 
After the excitement and actual sight of the 
occurrences of that terrible crucifixion day were 
past, only the awful fact seemed to remain, 
too appalling to leave room for any other 
thought : Jesus, their friend, their hoped-for 
Messiah, was dead — dead and buried. And all 
his promises and their hope sand even their very 
lives seemed buried with him in that rocky 
tomb of which someone had told them, they 



MARCUS AND MIRIAM. 


89 


knew not and cared not who. Oh, yes, it was 
the faithful Ayeah. But no matter — he was 
gone I And Miriam remembered, too, after- 
wards. how, on that terrible Sabbath, she had 
noti(’ed her bird stirring briskly in its cage, 
and how she had vaguely wondered why it was 
not dead. 

Her father seemed to be holding some strange 
kind of reception ; for, all day long, the disciples 
of Jesus kept dropping in, in little groups, wan- 
dering through the court and to that “ upper 
chamber,” which was henceforth to be their 
rallying point, and passing out again. They 
asked for no one and appeared hardly to see 
anyone, but conversed apart, if at all. And to 
Miriam and to -all that household they seemed 
only as weird specters from some visionary 
shore. Only one thing seemed actual and real : 
the fact that he was dead. 

They heard vague rumors, too, that some who 
had tried to visit the tomb in which his loved re- 
mains 'had hastily been laid, had encountered 
a body of Roman soldiers guarding the place, 
who had rudely repulsed them. Thus their 
spirits sank still lower. A terrible weakness 
came upon them, with nausea, trembling and 
inability to stand, until they lay scattered about 
the house, some on couches or benches, and 
some even on the bare floors, wherever they 
could wearily find an asylum. Thus passed the 
second night, without either sleep or wakeful- 
ness, in a stunned stupor. 

Sunday morning, the third day, the day after 
the Sabbath, a little party of disciples, with the 
members of the household, again found them- 
selves in the upper chamber together. Their 
number had been diminished by the departure 
of some from Jerusalem to their homes, and, 
as it was still early, there were many who had 
not yet come. 

Suddenly there came the light sound outside 
of a woman running, an astonished exclamation 
from some of those without, the door was burst 
open, and there entered Mary Magdalene. No 
pictures could be more in contrast than they 
and she. The whole room seemed illuminated 
and vitalized by her presence. 

For an instant she clasped her hands and 
drew herself together, as if to gather additional 
strength for the explosion that followed, and 
then burst forth : 

“ I have seen him ! He is risen ! He is 
risen I It is he himself, the Christ ! Oh, he is 


alive ! I touched him ! He spoke to me ! It 
is really he !” And she danced about the room, 
weeping and laughing, shaking some of her 
dearer friends by their shoulders or hands and 
repeating her message in various forms. 

Miriam caught her as she passed and said, 
“ What do you say? Tell us all about the 
matter.” 

The others gathered around, and, controlling 
herself, Mary Magdalene said : 

“ Why, last night I couldn’t sleep. Every- 
thing seemed so close, I felt I just must get 
out of doors. When outside, I felt if I could 
just get a glimpse of the tomb where I had 
seen his body laid, I could lie down there and 
be calm. The full moon was nearly down in 
the west as I came in sight of the place. 

“ I looked for the Roman guard, but they were 
nowhere in sight. The tomb was open. I ran 
quickly and looked in. It was empty! 

” I felt sure that his body had been removed 
elsewhere, and suspected that it had been done 
by his enemies, who had placed the guard, so 
I ran and told Peter and .John, who were room- 
ing nearby. They ran back ahead of me and 
then went into the city — I suppose to investi- 
gate the matter. I felt so overcome by this 
new trouble that I remained at the tomb,' weep- 
ing. I didn’t know anybody was inside, but 
presently I stooped down and looked in, and 
there I saw two men. I think one of them asked 
why I was weeping ; he spoke very kindly, but 
I didn’t want to talk, so I turned away and 
nearly ran into another man outside. I thought 
he was the gardener, but he was the Christ ! 
He spoke to me and asked me why I was weep- 
ing. I don’t know what I said, for suddenly 
I saw it was he, and fell at his feet, holding 
on to him as though he might get away. They 
were his feet, for there were the prints of the 
nails. Oh, how I kissed them and held them ! 
At last he said, ‘ Don’t hold on to me so, but 
go and say to my brethren, I am going up to my 
Father and your Father, and my God and your 
God;’ so I came to tell you.” 

.Just as she finished, several other women 
rushed into the room and told the astonished 
disciples that they, too, had seen the angels 
in the tomb, and that Jesus himself had met 
them on their way back. They continued to 
protest that this was so, but the news seemed 
so incredible that the disciples could not believe 
it. They were almost as much stunned by this 


90 


MARCUS AND MIRIAM. 


news as they previously had been by their grief, 
and knew not what to think. 

Marcus and Miriam passed from the room, 
and Miriam said to him, “ I must go to the 
place, to see for myself.” Marcus went with 
her, but, as they neared the spot, she ran on 
ahead, her heart full of strange tumult. Would 
Jesus, the crucified, he who had done so much 
for her, indeed arise, as he had promised his 
disciples? Her heart beat wildly at the thought. 

She believed that all Jesus had said must 
come to pass, and yet there was a secret fear 
that possibly she had not rightly understood 
his meaning. Just before reaching the sepul- 
cher, she paused in the midst of her contempla- 
tion, and looked with surprise and admiration 
on the scene before her. The entire ground in 
the vicinity of the sepulcher was covered with 
a carpet of blooming flowers.* Look where she 
would, lilies were blooming everywhere. It 
seemed incredible that they should so soon have 
sprung and blossomed ; her heart gave a great 
thrill of joy — it was in honor of her coming 
king ! 

A few steps more brought her in sight of 
the door of the tomb. The great stone was 
rolled away ! Running to the open door, she 
could ‘ plainly see that the body of Jesus no 
longer lay wdiere it had been placed on the 
evening of his crucifixion. Before she could 
question her heart farther, she saw two angels 
seated, one at the head and one at the foot of 
the place where he had lain. One of them spoke 
to her, asking : 

“Whom seekest thou? If it is Jesus of 
Nazareth thou wouldest find, he is not here, for 
he has risen, as he himself foretold. Go and 
tell his disciples that their Lord indeed has 
risen.” 

Miriam ran back to find her husband, and, 
throwing herself into his arms with a cry of 
almost hysterical joy, she said : 

“ Oh, Marcus, he is not here ! He has risen, 
as he has said !” 

And he, almost as much excited as herself, 
cried : 

“ What is this thou sayest to me, my Miriam? 
Can it be true that Jesus indeed has risen?” 

“ Come thou and see,” said Miriam, taking 
his hand and starting eagerly to run back to 
the sepulcher. 


♦Evpn to this day the white lilies cover the ground 
near the sepulcher in profusion. 


Reaching it, Marcus bent down, as John had 
done, for he could not enter the sacred precincts 
with sandaled feet. The angels were not there, 
but when he saw that the tomb indeed was 
vacant and saw the linen cloths neatly folded 
and lying by themselves apart, he sank upon 
the ground, completely overcome by his emotion. 
Burying his face in his hands, he let his heart 
arise in silent adoration and praise to his now 
risen Lord. 

Oh, what a day was that in all the homes of 
these humble men and women ! Again and 
again the happy lips of Miriam broke forth into 
songs of praise, and again and again she 
said : 

“ Oh, Marcus, I knew he was divine !” 

And Jairus and his wife, and the father and 
mother of Marcus, all joined in the general re- 
joicing, and it seemed that never so bright a 
day had broken over the city of Jerusalem. 

• •••••• 

That same evening, as two of the disciples, 
Cleopas and Andrew,* were on their way to 
Emmaus, a village about seven and a half miles 
from Jerusalem, they were conversing excitedly 
of the things that had been told. They had 
not gone to the tomb, and, though they had hg^ird 
the wonderful tidings of how Jesus had risen, 
they only knew it from hearsay ; and, like 
Thomas, it was difficult for them to accept the 
truth, unless their eyes could also bear testi- 
mony to it. They wanted to believe, but often- 
times faith is weak, even with those who seek 
it most. 

As they walked onward, a stranger joined 
himself to them and said : 

“ Of what do you converse so eagerly?” 

Cleopas, with a look of surprise, answ^ered : 

“ Art thou a stranger in Jerusalem, that thou 
dost not know what things have happened there 
within these last days?” 

And the stranger answ'ered them : 

“ Of what things speak ye?” 

Then they told him that all their hopes that 
Jesus was the Messiah, who was to redeem their 
people, were lost ; they described his terrible 
agony upon the cross, and how with his death 
all hope seemed to have vanished from their 
lives. Their Messiah, their King, had after all 
proved’ to be a mortal man. They also told 
him that certain women had that morning come 


♦Possibly. 



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MARCUS AND MIRIAM. 


93 


to the disciples in the upper room, and had 
told them that on visiting the tomb they found 
it empty ; how they had seen two angels sitting 
within the tomb and guarding it, who told them 
that Christ had risen. But this seemed all too 
incredible for them to believe, and their hearts 
were still full of sorrow. 

Then he reproached them for their dullness 
and their want of faith. “ Do you not remem- 
ber,” he asked them, “ where Isaiah has written, 
‘ For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is 
given : and the government shall be upon his 
shoulder ; and his name shall be called Won- 
derful, Counselor, The Mighty God, The Ever- 
lasting Father, The Prince of Peace’? Of 
whom, think you, is this written?” 

“ Of the Messiah, truly,” they answered him. 
“ And therefore are our hearts sorrowful, for 
we had so hoped that Jesus was he of whom 
the prophet wrote.” 

“ Aye,” continued the stranger, “ and does not 
the same prophet say farther on in his prophecy, 
that he ‘ shall open the eyes of the blind, and 
bring the prisoners from the prison, and those 
that sit in darkness out of the prison-house’?” 

“ All that Jesus did,” said Andrew, “ and yet 
they crucified him.” 

He answered, “ Isaiah also says, ‘ And the 
Spirit of the Lord shall rest upon him, the 
spirit of wisdom and understanding, the spirit 
of counsel and might, the spirit of knowledge 
and of the fear of the Lord, and shall make 
him quick of understanding in the fear of the 
Lord. With righteousness shall he judge the 
poor, and reprove with equity for the meek of 
the earth ; and righteousness shall be the girdle 
of his loins, and faithfulness the girdle of his 
reins.’ ” 

“ Surely that was written of our great teach- 
er,” said Cleopas. 

Jesus drew from beneath the folds of his tunic 
the book of the prophet Isaiah, and, opening at 
the fifty-third chapter, read it aloud to the 
two men as they walked : “ He shall grow up 
before him as a weak plant, and as a root out 
of dry ground.” He dwelt especially upon the 
passages : “ He is despised and rejected of men ; 
a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief. 
He was oppressed and he was afflicted, yet 
he opened not his mouth ; he is brought as a 
lamb to the slaughter, and as a sheep before her 
shearers is dumb, so he opened not his mouth. 
He was taken from prison and from judg- 


ment: and who shall declare his generation? 
for he was cut off out of the land of the living : 
for the transgression of my people was he 
stricken. He made his grave with the wicked 
and with the rich in his death.” 

“ That prophecy is surely written of Jesus 
whom they have crucified !” cried the two dis- 
ciples. “ It hath literally been fulfilled in 
him.” 

Then, beginning with Moses and the proph- 
ets, he expounded unto them all the things that 
had been prophesied concerning the Messiah, 
and showed to them how everything had been 
fulfilled, even to his death and burial. And 
they were overwhelmed with astonishment, and 
wondered that they had failed to recognize these 
truths in themselves. 

‘‘ Oh, that we had more truly received and 
known* him as the Messiah !” they moaned in 
their inmost hearts. 

When they reached Emmaus, the stranger 
would have passed onward, but they constrained 
him to remain, saying to him : 

“ Abide with us, for the eventide draweth 
near.” 

And he went with them into the house, and 
sat down to their simple repast with them. And 
he took bread, and blessed, and brake it ; and 
instantly their eyes were opened, and they knew 
it was the Lord who was their guest. But be- 
fore they could speak or worship him, he had 
disappeared from their sight. Then how they 
blamed themselves for their stupidity, and said, 
one to another : 

“ Did not our hearts burn within us while 
he was speaking with us on the way, and while 
he opened to us the Scriptures?” 

And, rising hastily, they returned to Jeru- 
salem and went immediately into the upper 
room, where the other disciples were gathered ; 
and they told them the rapturous news — how 
Jesus had risen and had appeared to them on 
the way — oh, blessed way — to Emmaus ! And 
the disciples greeted them with the same ardent 
greetings and said : 

“ He hath appeared also to Simon.” 

And their hearts were filled with rejoicing 
and with praise; so that they scarcely knew 
how to contain themselves. Even while they 
talked, Jesus himself appeared in their midst, 
greeting them with the words, “ Peace be unto 
you !” But so sudden was his appearance and 
so etherealized his person, that they were almost 


94 


MARCUS AND MIRIAM. 


frightened, half believing that it was a spirit 
that had thus appeared to them. But Jesus 
said : 

“ Why are ye troubled, and why do anxious 
doubts arise in your hearts? Look at my hands 
and my feet, and see that it is I ; handle me 
and see that I have real flesh and bones, the 
same as you.” 

And he showed them his hands and his side, 
and then, lest they should farther doubt, he 
feaid : * 

“ Have you anything here to eat?” 

And they brought him some bread and a piece 
of broiled fish, and he ate it before them, con- 
vincing them thus that he still had human 
instincts and tastes. 

From the moment that Jesus had entered 
the room, Miriam had stood with her eyes 
steadfastly fixed upon him, and her hands, 
closely clasped, pressed tightly against her 
bosom. After Jesus had eaten, he turned and 
looked upon her, and, going close beside her. 
Said : 

” Miriam, my daughter, said I not truly that 
I would return to you? It is the third day 
Since they crucified me, and I am here. Dost 
thou now, my child, believe all I have said to 
thee about our future life in the ‘ house of 
many mansions’?” 

And Miriam, looking up earnestly into his 
ej^es, with a look full of love and devotion, 
reached forth her hand and touched him, as with 
joy she cried : 


“ My teacher ! Oh, my teacher ! I believe 
I do believe !” 

EASTER HYMN. 

He is risen ! He is risen ! 

Let the bells of heaven ring. 

Crucified, despised, forsaken. 

Now we crown him Lord and King. 

Let the islands of the sea 
Swift repeat the thrilling strain. 

Earth reecho joyfully, 

Jesus died, but lives again ! 

Heart of mine, crush back thy pain — 
Jesus died, but lives again ! 

He is risen ! He is risen ! 

From the bonds of death set free. 

He ascended unto heaven 
There to reign eternally. 

Tell, oh tell the wondrous story, 

“ Christ the Lamb, for sinners slain ” — 
Myriad saints call back from glory — 

‘‘ Conquered death and rose again.” 

Listen to the glad refrain : 

‘‘ Jesus died, but rose again !” 

All the heavenly hosts adore him ! 
Seraphim and angels sing, 

Bending down with joy before him, •• 

” Jesus Christ our Priest and King.” 

In the ages still before us 
All the earth shall own his reign. 

Joining in the angel chorus : 

“ Jesus died, but rose again. 

Though he in the grave hath lain. 

Still he rose and lives again !” 


THE END. 


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